


Triumphant, the Dreamer

by Shadowblayze



Series: Dreamer 'Verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And has a much different viewpoint, Except she was much older than the usual suspects, Faith being integral to a character but not an overwhelming plot point, I just wanted to write a story like this ok, Protective Siblings, SI/OC, SI/OC as Harry's sister, Siblings, So much 80s research, and it has officially gotten about five times longer than expected, character driven, life - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:33:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 206,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10051634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowblayze/pseuds/Shadowblayze
Summary: Heather's not exactly sure how she got here, but if these people thought that they would be able to manipulate her little brother without a her raising hell about it, they were about to be unpleasantly surprised.





	1. Unexpected Awakenings

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

She had always been told that dreams were the realm of the broken.  That the domain of dreams was the Creator’s gift to those who had loved and lost; a glimpse of Glory that her mortal mind could comprehend.   A sacred promise that comforted the broken in the darkest part of the night, one meant to ward off the worst of the loneliness and grief until she could be reunited with her lost loved ones.

She couldn’t remember if it was her Granddad or Grandma that had told her that, but she remembered crying- the wretched tears of an inconsolable child- that Christmas afternoon when the adults in her life had finally confessed that her mother was never going to come home.

Her life and the people in it would teach her many other lessons, but that whisper had always lingered in the back of her mind.  It had given her hope in her darkest moments, and would survive long after the rest of her childhood was lost to the blur of time.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

She blinked her eyes open, the vestiges of deep, heavy sleep insistently tugging at her mind.

Then she just sort of stared.

She blinked again, hoping for some divine intervention or some sort of clarity to come bursting through her hazy thoughts.

Nope, still there.  She stared some more, confusion giving way to incredulity and then incredulity edging into panic.

Then she screamed.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Unknown sequences of the wake-panic-scream cycles later, she finally managed to struggle to the top of her emotional upheaval mountain and find a semblance of calm.

Not peace; the turmoil still raged, wild and fierce as ever, but it was much like being on the inside of a snow globe that was placed at the center of a blizzard.  Or, perhaps a better metaphor, was being in the eye of a tornado.  Helpless as a babe while everything she knew and loved was violently ripped away into a vortex of chaos and confusion, but she, herself, was sitting in an eerie moment of false serenity at its center.  Hyperaware that all it would take was the slightest shift in the winds, the tiniest amount of give in one side or the other, and then she would cease to be.

She closed her eyes and focused, putting all of her willpower into keeping her fragile sense of calm while her distressed mind tried to dredge up the most pertinent information.

The last thing she remembered….

_She was in her kitchen.  The taco meat was simmering away on the stove and her eldest cat was twining around her ankles whilst her youngest was doing her level best to innocently edge towards the food._

_The side door opened and her husband stepped inside, lunchbox hanging off his shoulder, and an annoyed look on his face._

_“One of_ those _days, huh?”  She teased him gently, a wide grin on her face, as she turned on the hot water to rinse off her spatula._

_“Never a smart moment at that place.”  He drawled dryly as he moved past her- pressing a kiss to the side of her neck as he did so- to put his lunchbox away on the other end of the counter._

_She turned around, clean spatula at the ready, fully intent to tease the details about the rest of his day from him-_

And that was it.  At least in terms of what she knew for certain.

Had she slipped and hit her head?  Was she in a hospital?  Why couldn’t she move?

The next set of memories were almost like scenes from a movie.  One of those low-production ones without all the sleek editing and copious post production work.

(A woman with red hair, smiling warmly down at her.  “Mummy loves you, baby girl!”)

Both her birth mother and her adopted mother were- naturally, at least- brunettes.  Who was this woman?  And why was the delusional redhead absolutely gigantic?

(A man with glasses and warm hazel eyes was playing with a baby off to her side.  “And how about you, princess?  Are you ever going to say ‘Dada’?, hm?”)

Her daddy had started shaving his head ages ago, refusing to be ‘that comb over guy’.  And he had a beard.  A bushy, biker beard.  And tattoos on his arms.

Exhausted and more than a little alarmed, she fell into a troubled sleep.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Another indeterminable amount of time later, she once again opened her eyes.  Her sore, aching eyes that felt as if they had been open for days instead of resting, while some sort of off-rhythm _noise_ felt as if it was using the bones of her skull for its percussion section to practice with.

After a few, deep breaths the noise seemed to abate a bit.

She breathed out slowly, feeling thankful.

She’d still give someone a Klondike bar for some Ibuprofen or, hell, even an Excedrin Migraine.  Headaches _sucked_.

Then a door swung open to her right and the next thing she knew a gigantic face was peering down at her.

Quite angrily.  The woman had obviously permed, but pointedly poofed up blonde hair.  Not any blonde color that would be seen in public, either, but the sort of boxed blonde that was about a half a shade off from healthy and contrasted negatively with the woman’s off-color, cake-like foundation.  The overdone red rouge on the woman’s cheeks seemed to only enhance the not-blended-properly eye-bruising cover-up and her eyeliner was both crumbly _and_ crooked behind her clumpy mascara.  Her twisted, yellowed teeth were bracketed by bright fuchsia painted lips and the makeup line on her neck seemed to be, honestly and truly, a quarter inch thick.  She was also wearing a string of slightly tarnished pearls, while her pearl earrings simply _had_ to be clip-ons, given their size and extravagant backing.

For a moment, the world was still.

Her first thought was, _‘that is one unfortunate woman, maybe that apron is part of her nurses uniform?’_ and her second was, ‘ _wait!  How can I see her so clearly?!  I never sleep with my glasses on!’_.

Something on her face must have given away her need to panic, because the woman actively scowled- ‘ _oh, I guess she just has a really bad case of resting bitchface’_ \- and opened her mouth.

Screeching was the politest term she could dredge up for the woman’s voice.  Screechy with a chance of glass shattering.

The woman’s babble was not as memorable as her accent.

English.  British.

_‘What the actual fuck?’_

She didn’t even remember closing her eyes, that time.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Truthfully, she felt more than a little stupid with how long it took for her to realize her own, physical state of being.

In her defense, adult women did not often wake up as babies and having two sets of memories- one drastically more concrete to her than the other- was a jarring and existential-crisis worthy escapade.

It had been after a few more wake-panic-scream cycles- seriously, it should have occurred to her earlier, but alas- that she woke to find herself with a rather pressing need to use the restroom.  Being an able bodied human being she went to stand up, and that was when the differences, oddities, and general ‘Houston, we have a problem’ tidbits refused to be pushed aside.

After being forced to confront the plethora of inconsistences- physical, emotional, mental, and _freaking metaphysical_ \- she just sort of sat there and stared at the horrid wallpaper that she could see beyond the bars of her prison- crib?- for a long moment.

‘ _Maybe I’m having a strange reaction to heatstroke?_ ’ She considered weakly.  The room was positively stifling, after all and she had always been warm blooded.  The walls she was staring at held a horrid half-wallpaper, half-painted scheme- overdone pastel flowers and an off beat cream, respectively- that wouldn’t have been out of place in some sort of retro ‘80s bed and breakfast place.

Her headache began to crescendo again, as her mind broke through her feeble sense of calm in order to cheerfully attempt drown her in casual observations and sensory input.

As she timidly brought one of her hands- suspiciously baby sized compared to the stuffed animal next to her, she noted distantly- up to her face, a horrible, creeping sensation began to worm its way into her chest.  Her eyes burned, but for the first time in what felt like forever her mind was startlingly clear.

‘ _Breathe_.’  She ordered herself firmly, her once-upon-a-time job training as a Dispatcher tumbling to the forefront of her mind.  ‘ _Ok.  Work from the information provided.  What do I know for certain?’_

Fact: she had not seen hide nor hair of her husband since she had woken up.  Not at all.  He would never _not_ be there if she had gotten hurt!  Never _ever_.  He’d been enough of a worrywart when she’d gotten her impacted wisdom teeth removed, and that had been an outpatient procedure!  He wasn’t overbearing, just sort of fussy.  And if he wasn’t here, then someone else should be- goodness knows her Grandma would bring a tent and actually use it if the hospital tried to send her away!

A horrible, cold sensation began to creep up her spine.  Foreboding, dark, and sinister in its intent.

She, somewhat desperately, pushed it away and forged ahead.

Fact: this was obviously not a hospital, despite that rather clinical feel to the- admittedly gaudy- room. 

While the room was stifling and smelt of cleaning chemicals, pee, and air freshener than needed a new line of work, there was no medical equipment.  Not even a basic heart monitor thing.

And more to the point-

Fact: she didn’t actually know anyone who spoke with an across-the-pond accent.  The nurse might be from one of the city hospitals- which might explain the accent- but she doubted she had been moved that far since her neither her family members nor any signs of their presence- cards, flowers, a blanket from home- were nearby.  Additionally, all the well-equipped hospitals were at least two hours away from her in any given direction, meaning that someone or at least the signs of them, should be around here somewhere.

She double checked the walls for artwork from her nieces and nephews.

Nope.  Nothing.

Fact: her hands were far too small to be her expected age.  And it was _her_ hand, as it had properly hurt when she bit into it with her teeth.  Speaking of which, she didn’t seem to have the full complement of those, either.

It felt strange, when she really concentrated.  Her teeth had never closed together neatly; she’d had an overbite- where the top teeth overlap the bottom ones- for as long as she could remember!

Fact: she was wearing what felt to be the world’s most uncomfortable pair of Depends- there were a couple of truly awful menstrual cycles back in her early teens years- and was dressed in a frilly, foufy monstrosity that had snaps just about everywhere.  It itched uncomfortably and she did not have the finger dexterity needed to undo the blasted snaps herself.

She had tried.  She lamented whoever had invented doily lace.

Panic began to edge at her mind, as the icy feeling from her spine spread throughout her extremities and cold, visceral terror gripped her soul.

She swallowed thickly and looked around for her cats.  Her furbabies.  For any signs of them at all.  The white one tended to shed faster than she could vacuum, and the little orange one-

Shock, panic, and anxiety swelled inside her and this time she was helpless against the tempest.

It felt as if her mind was breaking and the edges of reality were becoming blurred, blending in a manner that spelled doom for her mental stability.  Of the years, she had toed the line between ‘holding on’ and ‘losing it’ enough times to notice when she was nearing the edge of her tolerance, inching a bit too close to the rocky cliffs that ran along the spine of The Point Of No Return.

This……wasn’t even close to those moments.

This was strapping a jet pack on and plummeting, Wil E. Coyote style, off the edge of the Cliffside.

 _Without_ style.  No controlled dive.  No trampoline at the bottom.  No last minute shenanigans.

Just her and the seething misery of utter hysteria.  Or more correctly, Hysteria.

It was too much-

(too much, too little, generous, inadequate, overstuffed, underwhelmed, overclocked, desolate, bursting, cruel, kind-)

She did the only thing she could manage- she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed with all of her might.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

 _‘Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.’_   She recited to herself a few days later, her breaths hitching as she perma-cried.  ‘ _Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.’_

She could tell the passage of time thanks to the mostly-covered window and her recent acquisition of grief-induced insomnia. 

The insomnia had, at least, helped her fill in a few pieces of information.   It gave her plenty of time to explore her thoughts.

Her deduction?   

Her life had somehow ended and the strange movie-memories were, in fact, her own. 

From this new life.

In her somewhat less depressing moments, she wondered if President McCheetoface- or Lord Dampnut- had actually managed to destroy the world.  It would certainly explain her missing that important ‘ _ah-ha! So that’s how I died!_ ’ moment.

Given the man’s general bumbling oafishness, they’d probably gotten nuked _by_ _Canada_.

If that was the case, she sincerely hoped that Mexico had gotten ahold of Lord Dampnut and served him only tacos for the rest of his days.

Tacos and Montezuma’s Revenge.  Preferably served by the most outrageous Drag Queens to ever dress in drag.  In a prison staffed solely with solidly average looking, intelligent, take-no-shit women over the age of forty- bonus points if they wore shorts and didn’t shave their legs.

 _Fucker_.

She tried to hold on to her feelings of anger and amused disgruntlement.  Humor was all that was standing between her and yet another plunge into the Chasm of Hysteria, after all.

The loss of her life- of her husband and home and family- were still too much to even consider. 

Let alone truly process.  She just….couldn’t.

So she was doing her best to hold onto those memories while also letting herself grieve.  The torrent of tears and soundless wailing were, strangely, a relief, despite the fact she usually went entirely numb in the face of loss.  It had taken nearly a week for her to be able to cry by the time Granny had passed away.

Since her plunge into Hysteria, she spent most of her time dredging up any and all memories she could metaphorically grasp before very carefully and extremely purposefully, engraving them into her heart; praying with each one she forcefully willed herself to _always remember_ that the Creator would let her keep them close to her in this manner.

(Them.  Her entire life that had somehow abruptly vanished. )

Her vision wavered and she had to forcefully pull herself away from the Edge.  It took concentrated effort- who knew madness was so magnetic?- but after several agonizing minutes she managed to pull far enough away she only felt half insane  

What had she ever done to deserve this sort of agony?

 _‘The Father will never give you more than you can handle, baby girl.’_ Her Grandad had told her that, ten years to the day after her mother’s funeral, when they had buried the kitty he had gotten for her in the aftermath of her mother’s- her only parents- death.  ‘ _Just you wait.  You’ll be able to see your Mama and Snowflake again one day.  I promise.  Just have faith.’_

So, then what the hell was _this_?

She had been reborn.  She was a baby.

Her life- her family, her friends, her home, her identity- had been erased.  The person she would be from this point forward would be different. 

She’d be greatly influenced by who she’d been, of course, but the grown woman she had fought so hard to become had disappeared. 

The woman still technically existed inside her mind, but she wouldn’t look at her hands and see the scar from when she’d gotten into a fight with someone who had called her brother a ‘retard’ in middle school.  Her left leg wouldn’t be scarred from surgery and her right arm wouldn’t have those scars on her forearm as testament to that time she had learned the ‘fresh gravel, meet bike tires’ lesson. 

And that was just the beginning, she had lost so much more than a body or a handful of humans who would remember her existence. 

She wouldn’t ever wake up to her eldest cat’s nose about two inches from her face first thing in the morning.   She wouldn’t ever fall asleep to her husband’s warm, familiar arm draped over her side at the end of a trying day.  She’d never-

 _‘Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.’_   She chanted inside her mind, reminding her that there was a plan.  A way through the darkness that felt like it would drown her if her internal fortitude altered for a single second.  _‘Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.’_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

  _‘Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the truth’_.   She thought, drained and utterly spent in a way that she had, honest and truly, never felt before this moment.

But she needed to move forward, or she risked being consumed by the barely-leashed shadows that even now sought to undermine her. 

She felt so stupid, as she clung to her faith and used it to build a raft out of the shattered pieces of who she used to be.  Even as stupid as she felt, though, she refused to give her faith up; refused to curse the Creator she had been taught to revere.  It might be utterly senseless, considering the situation she found herself in, to continue to believe in such a way, but she couldn’t just….stop.

Her faith was intertwined with her sense of self and so it would remain.

Well, she knew she could let go and allow herself to be swallowed up by grief, rendering herself utterly useless.  Or, as she had done through many other losses, she could patch herself together just enough to struggle onwards, meeting whatever lay before her with grim determination and resolve.

There was only one path that would make her family proud of her.  And while she really didn’t think all that highly of herself, she loved them with everything she had.  If the situation had been different, and she’d been watching over her husband or brother or anyone else in her position, she would have wanted to see them step forward and embrace their new life.  She wouldn’t begrudge them time to grieve, of course, but she’d want to see them move forward, despite the odds.

 _‘Sometimes things happen that will never heal, baby girl.  They are wounds that will still bleed decades after you received them.  But if you stop moving forward because of that pain, you’ll never get anywhere at all.’_   The words were her crutch and her shield.  While the voice that originally uttered them had long been lost to the haze of time, but she could almost feel her Granny’s weathered hands pulling her wet strands of hair out of her eyes as she stood in front of her Mama’s grave.  She could almost feel the sharp winter winds as they tugged at her clothes, and the annoyingly bright gaze of the sun as it callously shone all al the clearer during one of the darkest times she had ever experienced.

 _‘Cry, mourn, move._ ’ She told herself in between sobbing breaths, pushing her dismay and helplessness and terror to the back of her mind as she forcibly marshalled her thoughts to order.

It probably wasn’t even remotely healthy, but it was all she could manage, so it would have to do.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

She slept, cried, prayed, and remembered. 

Over and over and over again. 

Time lost any significance as she tried to find her footing in this scary new situation.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Eventually, the tears just refused to come anymore.  The torrent of memories slowed to a trickle.

She was _exhausted_.  On every possible level.

President McCheetoface hadn’t even been this exhausting,

It was only then that she truly paid attention to the most recent memories; the ones that had occurred since her rebirth that had been drowned out under the deluge of her Before memories crashing into her mind.

And, you know, making a visit to Hysteria and all that.

She was now reasonably certain that her new situation wasn’t a hallucination or anything along that line.   Well, her certainty was less a scientific fact and more a desperate belief, really.  Because if she was just laying on a hospital bed somewhere, dreaming up all of this turmoil, she was going to have some extremely firm words for the first celestial being she met.

She wasn’t so afraid of losing a fight that she wouldn’t throw a punch. 

So she had a desperate resolve to build a solid foundation under her metaphoric feet so she could find her equilibrium.  She’d gone over everything she had ever learned about hallucinations and such, but her situation just seemed too……constant and consistent. 

It was entirely possible- a small, defiant part of her noted grimly- that something traumatic had happened and she had succumbed to wholesale madness.  But, aside from her memories of Before just randomly ending- like a movie that was paused and then forgotten until the DVD player shut down- and the briefest memory of a place she had dubbed Beyond, there wasn’t any indications of trauma.  Just the ending of Before smushing up against her earliest memories of being carried around or eating or something equally as mundane.

It was confusing and more than a little scary, but she hadn’t been raised to shy away from challenges- except carbs; carbs were _amazing_ \- and she had no intention of wasting her new life chasing shadows from Before.

 _“Waste not, want not.”’_ As Granny would say.  And Granny had been crazy enough to expect her granddaughter to live by that code, even a few realities and universes over from when she’d last heard it.

Because there are- apparently- some things that even being reborn cannot change, and being an older sister happens to be one of them.

Her more rational self, had, when the noise inside her head had died down enough she could hear herself think, purposefully pointed out that she needed to get her _shit_ together, so that she could be there for her little brother.

Especially as she had a sneaking, cold suspicion that she had not just been reborn, but born into a world that housed magic. 

Well, she’d always thought it could be possible.

As crazy and irrational as such an idea seemed- ignoring her recently examined, suspiciously magic filled memories for a moment- she had heard a distinctly oafish sounding man bellow, “Petunia, I’m home!” from somewhere down below her not all that long ago.  And her lone blanket had the name ‘Potter’ sewn into it as well.  She might be in a room all by herself at the moment, but she had heard the aforementioned harpy screeching at a sniffly someone else- possibly in the next room, but she hadn’t been entirely coherent at the time- when the hag wasn’t cooing in a saccharine sotto voice at the Tantrum King.  Tantrum King, she assumed rather resignedly, was the woman’s actual offspring and an unholy terror in the making and the woman seemed to think that the little hellspawn being able to blink was a cause for heaping mountains of very vocal praise.

She had no reason to believe that anyone other than her was in this sort of a strange predicament, and that meant that her baby brother was truly a baby, and likely all alone without anyone at all to comfort him.

That was just appalling, no matter what sort of existential crisis she happened to be going through at the moment.

Like _hell_ she was going to wail and wallow while there was an innocent little boy _who needed her_. 

Besides, Granny always said that the best way to heal was to help someone in need.  Something about the golden rule and paying it forward, or some such.

So, she was giving herself a little more time to grieve and order her thoughts.  But in a couple more days she would be pulling on her big girl panties and taking the reins of this new adventure.  First up on her to-do list was finding a way to be put back with her brother and she’d make plans for the future after that.

She’d spend her remaining adjustment time hoping and praying that her family- well, both of them- would be waiting for her in Glory at the end of this life.

She really didn’t think she could go through this again. 

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

The indignity of having someone change her diaper- turned out baby bodies are not so great at ‘holding it’, regardless of the person’s mental discipline- was only balanced out by her secret glee at making Bitchy McBitchface change her dirty drawers.

In some of the- many, many- fanfictions she had read about this reality, Harry’s basic needs had been neglected.  Thankfully, that was not the case in terms of hygiene, as McBitchface actually was as anal retentive about cleanliness as her recently-sucked-on-a-lemon face suggested.

 _‘She’s like Mr. Clean’s cranky ex-wife.’_   She mused as the woman’s ever-bright, painted lips twisted downwards in disgust.  The clothespin on her prominent nose was rather amusing to look at, though.

It did nothing to detract from the obnoxiously pastel floral wallpaper and the heavy, floor-length grandma curtains that blocked out nearly all of the natural light, save for whatever escaped past the top.  The heavy shag-style rug paired with the brass-colored bed clashed harshly with the rather lovely mahogany-stained dresser and vanity.

She supposed she should be grateful that McBitchface turned on the lighted mobile at night.  The music was rather annoying, but it gave off some light and the bird shapes it made on their ceiling gave her _something_ to focus on.

Insomnia as a baby was a real bitch to deal with.  She hated being dependent on anyone as a rule, and being forced to suffer through migraine-level headaches and utterly unable to do more than pace a few times before her legs screamed at her was truly vexing.

She’d also consider performing murder for pizza. Or Chinese takeout.  Or even a grilled chicken salad.

God in Heaven, but she missed being herself.

She supposed that she ought to get used to calling the sour woman ‘Aunt Petunia’, but she had never had an aunt, Before, and this woman’s clinical treatment of her certainly didn’t engender feelings of family.

Seriously, who left a baby in a crappy crib that was nearly too small, with peeling paint?  If she was an _actual_ baby she likely would have gnawed at the wood and possibly poisoned herself!  That was probably _lead paint_ , jerks!  Her only companion was a cute teddy bear with a bright red bow that looked to have had better days.  About a century ago.  Was this thing even _clean_?  Oh, she had her blanket, too, she supposed.

Why she oughta-

-oh, right.

Heather.  Her name was Heather now.  She needed to internalize that. 

Heather Potter.

Born seven minutes before her little brother, Harry, from what her memories suggested.

Happily, she did not actually remember her birth.  Actually, she only remembered disjointed bits and pieces up until her and Harry’s first birthday, after which the memories were clearer, but still not pristine.  She wondered if this was partly due to the resilience of children- young ones were notorious for unconsciously suppressing trauma in order to survive- or if her older self had been awakened the night that Voldemort had crashed into Godric’s Hollow and messed with everything.

Speaking of which, she remembered James- ‘ _Papa_ ,’ a small part of her reminded herself; her Daddy would always be the bald man with the tattoos and the biker beard, but Papa was an acceptable term for the warm man in her memories who had died for her and Harry- making little rings with his wand- and magic was real which was _amazing_!- just before the lights flickered and a terrible wail had gone off outside.  She remembered him dropping his wand and staring at something on the mantle, off to the side, as her Mum- and even though she’d already had a Mama and a Mom, she’d _literally_ _watched_ Lily Potter _die_ for her- had come barreling in from the kitchen.

The next bit was all disjointed and just flashes of things she only understood because of her knowledge from Before.

Creepily enough, she _did_ have a clear memory of a man draped in black, cradling her mother’s corpse to himself while sobbing.  The scent of copper, burnt plastic, and smoldering wood clogged her nose in the memory, but the hate in the man’s red-rimmed eyes when he turned to stare at her small form was the thing of nightmares.

It was like looking into a menacing abyss- that made Hysteria seem inviting by contrast- and having it stare back.

In her memory, the man kissed her mother’s brow with eerily contrasting gentleness before he gripped a thin piece of wood that she understood to be his wand and pointed it at her unconscious brother, who was sitting up next to her prone form.  Memory-her had screamed and the man snarled something in a low, menacing tone of voice that hurt her heart to hear even in a half-fogged recollection, and then her memory just…ended. 

Whited out.

The next thing she remembered was the beginning of the beginning of her existential crisis.

Supremely unhelpful mostly, but hey; at least now she could at least get some petty vindictive satisfaction from watching McBitchface clean up her poo.

As Tallahassee said, it’s all about the little things.

At any rate, she had separated her memories into Before and After. 

Before-her and Heather. 

At least she had tried, but the truth was the two sets of memories were mixing, much like sugar dissolves in a tall glass of water.  What was left behind was something a little different from the original, but fundamentally the same.

Hopefully it would help her keep track of the difference between past and present; fiction and fact.

With a bit of luck.

Sh- _Heather_ was under no illusions that this world would be exactly the same as the story had read.  The story might have some interesting, helpful information- not to mention the fanon extrapolations, half the battle is just _knowing_ something _might_ be possible, after all- but the odds of it being exactly the same were astronomically low.

Actually, she’d already noted a few differences, at least in the appearances of her parents this time around.  She’d wait until her emotions settled down to a dull roar to really try to examine the memories with a microscope, though.   

Somewhere, someone had written that every story ever written was just a mirror lens into another world.  She had always been a dreamer, a realist mixed with an idealist and then sheltered with the sarcasm of a pessimist; endlessly fascinated by the idea of what might be possible.  Seeing as she had found herself in an impossible situation, she figured she would just roll with it.

Oh, it was _far_ from _easy_.  The loss of her husband and cats and independence and life was an open, gnawing wound that ached every second of every day whether she was awake or not.  But she had experienced loss early on the first time around- she had been orphaned at the age of six.  And despite the relatively happy ending of that situation she had learned very, very early on that wishing for _what was_ only distracted from _what_ _is_.

Primal survival instincts, she thought someone had told her once when she’d wondered if she was broken, somehow defective.

So even though her heart still bled and she spent most nights desperately wishing for the comforts of _home_ , she knew that the best way to deal with this situation was to pick a goal and march toward it with everything she had.  She’d prefer some familiar music to help soothe the jagged edges, but beggars couldn’t really be choosers. 

Seeing as how being the eldest sibling was something she had always been, it was not as hard as it could have been to plot out her course.  Familiar instincts and even more acquainted circumstances helping her gather up her scattered thoughts and push onward.

She couldn’t wait to be reunited with her brother.  Partly out of sisterly affection, but partly from a deep need to have something other than her own thoughts to focus on.  She heard him crying sometimes and it just about broke her heart all over again.   

Given what Bitchy McBitchface angrily muttered when feeding her or changing her nappies, Heather had come to realize that the twins had been separated because when one cried, so did the other.  She mentally scolded herself for her initial reactions to her situation, but it was a half-hearted effort at best.  Truthfully she internally acknowledged that it was not her fault that McBitchface was such a terrible caretaker and her baby brother was grieving for their fallen parents, but she still felt somewhat accountable.

On the topic of Bitchy McBitchface, Heather mentally debated giving Petunia Evans-Dursley more credit as a human being at least once a day. 

The woman and her husband had taken in _two_ unexpected toddlers; possible letter and equally possible vague threats to their family’s safety aside.  Before-her would have certainly been sour about such a situation, after all, even if she liked to believe she would have been much more caring towards her new wards.  She’d never had children, but even _she_ knew babies needed attention and positive interaction!  Heather quietly acknowledged that her already-fervent dislike of the woman was likely Before-her’s displeasure of the Durselys influencing her, as the woman had yet to do anything truly terrible, such as stick her in a cupboard. 

Any goodwill dredged up in the silence of the very routine in-between times, however, quickly evaporated when the woman came in for her scheduled ’check in’.  The times during which Heather was detachedly fed, changed, or scrubbed clean in a tub of lukewarm water with a little baby perch built in- she hadn’t even known washing babies in old-fashioned mini-tubs with a little baby seat was still a thing, but learn something new every day, she supposed- her bedding changed out, and the plastic covering of the mattress thoroughly sanitized.  She appreciated the help, really, even though her lack of independence bothered her something fierce.  No, Heather’s potential reconciliatory empathy tended to dry up the longer Petunia muttered while going about the previously mentioned tasks.  Voice typically pitched at a decibel baby humans did _not_ appreciate, McBitchface seemed to revel in making loads of gushing comments about her ‘precious popkin’ before a veritable tidal wave of snide, nearly cruel comments about the Potter twins came tumbling out of her overly-made up face.

Heather had always been good at biting her tongue, because she had taken to heart the lessons about ’once words are spoken they could never be taken back’, but McBitchface’s commentary really made her wish she could verbally put the hag in her place.  Seriously, who talked shit about impressionable little toddlers to their face?  Where was the logic?

Still, Heather was a grown woman, and she could give her brother lots of positive attention and plenty of learning incentive if she could just get them reunited.

So, Plan A was to simply _ask_ for her brother and hopefully be reunited with him.

Ask and ye shall receive, and all that.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Naturally, Murphy’s Law laughed at her.  Long and loudly and with great enthusiasm.

Her voice was stupid.  Well, not so much stupid as untrained and entirely uncoordinated.  Prone to random squeaks and loud noises that would get her screeched at by the Banshee- hm, did she like that better than McBitchface?- she did her best to quietly hum the few vocal exercises she remembered from the, like, one set of vocal lessons she had attended as a child.  Mostly she practiced the vowels, as they were supposedly the backbone of diction, according to someone at one point in Before.

“Do, re, mi, fa, so, la, te, da…”

 _‘One thing at a time, Heather.   Even steady water wears away at stone. You can do this.’_   She encouraged herself as her voice broke and she had to restart the exercise.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

About a week and a half after she had gotten her shit together- she was keeping count by putting her worn teddy in a different corner each day, clockwise- the door opened and the Banshee strolled in with purpose, her heeled shoes clacking casually against the wooden floor.

The heavy makeup trends of the 80s- she might be a pro at denial, but she was also rather firmly grounded in reality; at least she tried to be- were truly cringe worthy for Heather to witness in living color, as were the horrid floral dresses Banshee insisted on wearing. They had plate-armor worthy shoulder pads at the top of the fashion disasters and that poofy netting stuff underneath the skirt portion.  Banshee even wore those stirrup legging things with the foot straps under the blasted things! Even the cute pumps- Banshee had surprisingly good taste in shoes, Heather was sour to admit, even to herself- couldn’t save the horrid look.

 _‘I usually wore jeans, a t-shirt, and threw my hair into a ponytail and even I think you’re a walking fashion disaster, lady.’_   Heather thought as she gazed at the caked on foundation in disturbed curiosity.  _‘You need serious help.’_

“Girl.”  Banshee said as she came to a stop just beyond the crib’s bars, as if Heather was supposed to understand her.

Well, Heather _could_ , but that was beside the point.

“Vernon’s sister is coming for the hols.”  She continued, crossing her arms underneath her bust and beginning to pace.  “And this is her preferred guest room.”

Heather scooted over to the bars of the crib and pulled herself upright, intently watching the agitated woman.  _‘If the foundation on her forehead cracks anymore, I think it might actually detach from her face and fall off.  It looks thick enough to actually shatter, like pottery.  Ohmygawd.  This cannot, actually, be real.  It just can’t.’_

“If we have to….”  Petunia trailed off and looked out the window a moment, her expression doing a complicated dance that seemed to express both too much and too little.  After a few beats of silence, she shook her head firmly and turned to peer intently at Heather.  “I am going to put you and the other back together, and if you two proceed to cause an unholy ruckus like you did right after we found you on the stoop I’ll-“  The woman’s mouth snapped closed and she glared at Heather darkly.  “Well, your life here will become even more unpleasant.  We don’t want you here as it is.”

 _‘Such wonderful things to say to an impressionable child.’_   Heather thought rather caustically as she stared blankly at her ‘aunt’.  _‘Truly you are a paragon of maternal excellence.’_

Shortly thereafter, Heather was removed from her crib and taken- for the first time in her recent memory- out of her tackily wallpapered room.

The hallway was rather pretty, at least the wood parts were.  The wood was dark colored and impeccably placed and ran halfway up the wall before it gave way to more tacky wallpaper.  Straight out from the room she had been in was the hallway, which ran horizontally along until it met a wider hallway and switched directions.  There were two doors across the way, with a rather large closet to her left.  Heather suspected that the two doors across the way were bedrooms while the room to her right was the upstairs bathroom.

Proving her suspicions at least partly correct, Banshee opened the door to the room directly across from where she had been and inside was a sleeping baby.

A sleeping dark haired baby who was curled in on himself, dried tear-tracks on his little face.

Heather didn’t pay any attention to what he aunt said or did next, as she immediately stumbled over to her sleeping brother as soon as she wriggled out of Petunia’s grip.  Harry was small, but still chubby in that way that all babies were.  For a few moments Heather just stared at her little brother, immensely happy for the first time in forever, as she basked in the knowledge that they were finally together again.

Slowly, as if sensing her presence, Harry’s eyes fluttered open.

 _‘And…..I’m stupidly attached already.’_   She thought as she smiled at the little guy as warmly as she could.

‘ _His eyes really are a bright green.’_   She thought as she reached out a hand to gently pat at his face and hair.  Harry’s hair was dark, black as night, really.  Upon closer inspection, she noted that his eyes, while definitely a bright- dare she say, _emerald_ \- green towards the outer ring of the iris, were also sort of blue closer to the pupil.  Not overly so, and not solidly blue, but she figured that the blue was what made the green stand out quite so much.

Then, of course, Harry woke up fully and she had her hands full with weepy, happy, confused toddler.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather was feeling slightly more sympathetic to Petunia’s plight after two whole days with her baby brother.  Mind you, she was not about to lock him up in a cupboard, but babies were _exhausting_.

Of course, she was pouring her entire being into making him happy as a way to distract herself, so that might be part of it, too.

Harry had also had a rather brilliant bout of accidental magic, cementing her theory about where she had landed. Or, rather, decimating her paper-thin excuses that she had tried to string together.

Mercifully, the burst of uncontrolled magic had been in response to her pretending to hide under her blanket from him.  The blanket vanishing from existence was startling, and had caused Harry to cry, but she had managed to soothe him before Petunia had come storming into the room.  As a matter of fact, when Petunia had come by to check on them later, she had not even noticed the blanket’s disappearance.

To be fair, Marge had apparently arrived and the woman sounded just as horrid as Heather had once imagined her to be.  Heather could hear the woman’s loud, bigoted, xenophobic, misogynist opinions rather clearly through the walls and Marge sounded like the sort of racist relative who would gladly believe anything bad about anyone she disliked while paltry things such as ‘facts’ were utterly lost on her.

In Heather’s humble opinion, the new room was more palatable than her old one.  While the floor was littered with various pieces of junk and the closet seemed full to the bursting point, the walls were a- decent, it should be duly noted- cream color and the curtains were much less severe.  So the ambient light helped lift her spirits a bit, even if she and Harry were stuck inside a crib that was really too small for the both of them.

Harry, at least, tired her out enough that sleeping was easier for her.  While her baby body needed lots of sleep, her mind was just as active as ever and being too tired to think was a welcome change.  So her days were spent happily babbling and pretending with her little brother, trying to keep him engaged and somewhat contained so as not to draw any unwanted attention to the two of them.

Fortunately Harry’s crib came with soft blocks as well as his own stuffed animal; a dog.

Unfortunately, she had yet to find a warm tingly feeling that signified magic.  She had been utterly normal in the Before, so she should be able to notice something as foreign as magic inside of her, right?

She tried to ignore the niggling little fear that she had been born just as normal as she had always been and the thought of her Harry going off into danger without her.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Unfortunately, no matter how much she tried to distract him, Harry seemed to be determined to wail on the third day of Marge’ visit.

Heather had tried the babbling game, the pretending game, peek-a-boo, the fingers game, and just about everything else she could manage in her current form, but her brother just would not be soothed.

Given that he was calling out for their parents, Heather supposed that she couldn’t really blame herself.  Losing a parent was- is- a wretched experience and she could hardly expect her brother to have forgotten the life they had been ripped away from, baby or no.  So she did her best to cuddle him and make him understand that she was still here.

When the door slammed open hard enough for the hinges to squawk in protest, Harry wasn’t the only one who jumped.

“What the bloody hell are you squakin’ at, ya dirty little bastard?”  Marge roared at the room.  “Waste o’ space, just like those Dole-grubbers, ya are.”

The room, not them.  As the clearly inebriated woman was having trouble focusing.

Marge looked like an unpleasant stereotype given physical form to Heather.  The woman had rather unflattering jowls and her skin was flushed with either heat or drink or both.  She was clad in something made from velvet that clearly was not made to flatter her figure, and the pearls around her neck looked to be dangerously close to choking her. Also, it seemed as if Marge had drenched herself in vintage Avon perfume from the 1950s, given the strength of the so-called perfume’s scent.

The woman stumbled closer and kept screeching, so Heather pulled the still-wailing Harry as close to her as possible, in order to try to protect him from Marge’s diatribe. 

Heather kept her temper when Marge’s rough hands pawed at her, but when the woman grabbed Harry’s hair and pulled, Heather felt something inside her _snap_. 

In the next instant, Marge tumbled out into the hallway, clipping Petunia and nearly tipping over the railing on the stairs.

Back inside the room, Harry quieted for a moment while a strangely tired Heather took deep gulps of breath and tried to center herself.  After a few moments of awkward silence, Vernon and Marge began bellowing and Dudley, who was in the Petunia’s arms, also began wailing.

Vernon stormed around the mess in the hall and came stomping over to their crib, very much the masculine counterpart to his sister at that moment.  By the time he made it over to the crib, Harry had started crying again and Heather had wrapped herself around him as tightly as she could.

“She hurt Harry.”  Heather managed with only a moderate amount of lisping.  Her sleepless nights reciting words from her favorite books were paying dividends, though her consonants were still somewhat babyish-sounding.  “I wanted it to _stop_.”

Whether it was the usually silent child actually speaking or some late sense of conscience, Vernon paused and suspiciously regarded her with beady blue eyes.  “And if she stops you won’t do… _it_ ….again?”  He questioned her gruffly after a few tense moments of a staring contest.

Heather internally scoffed at him, ‘ _Amateur_.’, but nodded firmly.  “Yes.”

“Fair enough.”  The man muttered grudgingly, his splotchy mustache quivering lightly.

And that was that.

The absurdity of the situation was somehow suspended until Vernon shut the door behind him with a quiet _click_.

Harry whimpered into her shoulder and she did her best to offer comfort to the little guy. 

 _‘He was surprisingly reasonable.’_   She pondered thoughtfully just before Harry smeared snot on her exposed collarbone. 

The horrid, lace-ridden snap disaster had- very thankfully- been replaced with a rather normal, if pink, outfit that was slightly too big for her just yesterday.  Unfortunately, it was a bit big on her and was prone to being tugged down and away from her skin by her clingy little brother.

‘ _Ugh, this is getting old_.’  Heather thought rather sourly as she messed with the nearest blanket, using it as a makeshift snot and drool barrier.   Babies were messy.  Even _she_ sometimes woke to drool on the sheet.  But that did not mean that she enjoyed being drooled or snotted on.

Especially when she couldn’t even shower on her own.  Fucking hell, this situation was truly aggravating.

Harry snuffled into her shoulder, and she quickly abandoned her thoughts to ensure that he was breathing properly- it was her newest obsession: make sure Harry’s breathing properly.  She was going to have grey hair by the time she was ten, she was certain of it!  Once that was taken care of and he began to do his sleepy-babble routine, she returned to her thoughts.

She had finally sensed it.  That different feeling that she had been looking for, the one that would ensure that her brother wouldn’t go off into another world without her.

It was…..strange.

Now that she had sensed a surge of it, she could metaphorically see it.  It was less like a mass of energy behind her diaphragm- where she had always visualized the ‘magical core’ when pondering it Before- and more like an extra set of muscles all along her frame.  She felt tired in a way that she usually felt after a really long day at work, one that had been both mentally and physically taxing.

Well, she had been a Dispatcher after she had left the factory behind, so she had had plenty of experience with stress and exhaustion.

 _‘Do magicals use magic all the time subconsciously?’_ She wondered as she eased Harry off her shoulder and down on to the mattress.  She carefully confirmed that he could breathe easily, and loosely tucked him under the remaining clean blanket.  For good measure she chucked the dirty blanket onto the floor, just to make sure that Harry didn’t grab it and start gnawing on it later.

Besides, if she threw things on the ground, Petunia took them to the wash.  The older woman gave her strange looks and sniffed disapprovingly, but they were whisked away to be cleaned, so that was all that mattered to Heather.

Heather spent a long moment hating her helplessness.  Reunited with Harry or not, she dearly missed her independence.  It was a bit more poignant now that she had her brother beside her, as their crib wasn’t exactly spacious.  And it was plastic wrapped, so it crinkled every time she moved and smelled like Lysol and pee.  Just being able to go to the bathroom, dress herself, feed herself, and other basic functions she had always taken for granted suddenly seemed like major luxuries.  She tried not to focus on that too much, lest she fall off the very narrow path of ‘dealing with this situation one thing at a time’ into ‘Basketcaseville’.

 _‘Right, magic.’_   Heather thought resolutely as she shut the mental door to those desires firmly closed.  It took a few long minutes of psyching herself up, but eventually she managed to wrest her thoughts back to the excitement of magic being real and her having performed some, albeit accidentally.  _‘So do magicals use magic subconsciously all the time?  It would certainly explain why learning to cast spells might be somewhat difficult.  Learning to redirect a moving stream would be far more difficult than just trying to get a coiled lake to flow down a duct.’_  

Heather looked down at her hands and began to use her individual fingers to dance over imaginary spots on the sheets.  It was something she had been doing with Harry, having half-remembering something her sister-in-law had mentioned about young children and training dexterity.  From the rest of what Heather remembered, they should be feeding themselves- and had been, from what little she could remember from pre-Dursleys- but Petunia fed them herself. 

Petunia was actually fairly decent in terms of food, much more reasonable than Heather had truthfully expected her to be.  Even if the woman obviously fed them scraps and had taught them very early on that fussing would see them hungry until the next ‘check in’ time.  It was either eat when and what she fed you or nothing at all, really.

They were fed after Vernon left for work in the mornings, which sort of sucked, as breakfast was always cold.  The texture of cold eggs was just gross.  Petunia tended to give them a bit of milk with breakfast, a fruit cup at lunch, and some soft veggies with dinner, along with two smaller snacks during their in-between changing times.  The food was rather bland and unappetizing to her mind, but her body had long grown used to it and she knew better than to push Petunia’s tolerance.

Later would be a different story, but she had always been a bit of a realist and angering the food and nappy coordinator would just be folly at this point.  The only time they were let out of the crib as is was to sit in the highchair and baby tub, both in the case of Petunia changing the sheets.  Heather held out hope that eventually they would at least get the run of a playpen, the confined space couldn’t be good for their overall development.

‘ _Magic.  I wonder if it acts sort of like a silent protector?’_   She mused as her stubby fingers danced over the thin blanket.  _‘There are people who have stronger than usual gut feelings, right?  Is it sort of like that?  Or maybe magicals naturally direct their inner magic into things they love, like gardening?  Or maybe they unconsciously use it in whatever they are doing?  Like cooking or whatever.’_

Well, damn.  If that theory actually held some merit it might explain why the Dursleys in the story worked Harry so much.  Well, why _Petunia_ worked him so much, as she seemed like the type to keep that sort of information to herself and just reap the consequences.  Like fantastic flowers and above-average meals.

She sighed heavily and decided to take a nap.

(Some things never changed, apparently.)

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Then again, some things did change.

Massively.

The day after the Marge Incident the three Dursley-born members of the household went out, leaving behind those of Evans ancestry and that was before things really went sideways.

The first indication that she had entered the twilight zone was Petunia gently steering in what looked to be R2-D2’s ancient ancestor.  Seriously, it looked exactly like the little Star Wars guy, complete with a rounded, thick plastic dome with what looked to be two red eyes sitting on a black piece of plastic in the middle.  It even had arms, for goodness’ sake!  Old school  design, to be sure, and the center chest area held what looked more akin to the 70s square-button, multi-panel display than  she had expected, but it was still an honest-to-goodness robot!

And all of that incredulity was before Petunia pushed a button- just above the proudly displayed TOMY logo- and the little guy started playing _Hey Jude_ from his chest.

 _‘This is beyond weird.’_   Heather thought rather dazedly as Harry clapped and squealed in delight, mesmerized by the little blinking lights and simple black-and-grey display panel.

Petunia had come strolling into their room not fifteen minutes after the others had left and, once her tunes started playing, set to work clearing away all the room’s junk.  Heather counted Petunia taking no less than sixteen trips out of the room in order to remove stuff from the room before she was summarily distracted by Harry’s fussing and lost count.

When the dust settled- literally, some of the nooks hadn’t been dusted in years, apparently- the room seemed about twice as large as it had been before.  The floor was obviously scratched and scuffed up, even after Petunia’s thorough scouring, but the woman came back with a worn circular white-yellow-orange rug that she laboriously unrolled at the center of the room.  The next thing that Petunia brought in was, at first, just a stack of folded wooden frame, but as the thing took shape Heather was happy to note that it looked to be a playpen.

Freedom to move!

Granted, more like a braced fence that just barely managed fit on the edges of the rug, but hey; she’d take what she could get.

**\---XXX---**

Petunia dabbed her forehead with the hem of her apron before the wiped her hands off with a nearby rag.

She had done it!  And with at least an hour to spare, as well!

The woman did her best to keep from tearing up- she didn’t want to set off the toddlers!- but it was hard.  Because this was the playpen her mother had used for Petunia and Lily, and the one she had used for Dudley.

The one Lily-

 _‘Stop it.’_   She ordered herself firmly, closing her eyes and fighting against the burn of tears.  It had been nearly two full months since her niece and nephew had arrived on her doorstep, with nothing more than a letter to inform her of her sister’s passing and it still hurt her to think about.

While she and Lily had been estranged to the point of only Holiday Cards since that disastrous double dinner date the sisters had tried to go on just a few weeks after their parents’ funeral, Lily had still been her little sister.  The little girl that Petunia had spent so much time happily entertaining in this very playpen, on this very rug, all those years ago in that now-decrepit house in Spinner’ End.  And time and resentment and hurt and anger only carried her so far in the face of the inexcusable truth that her little sister was now gone forever.

Petunia had done her best to distance herself from her niece and nephew.  She cared for their physical needs easily enough, but she just couldn’t bring herself to establish proper bonds with them.  At first it had been easy to hang on to her resentment of their intrusion into her perfectly ordered life, what with their incessant screaming and crying at all hours.  Then Duddy had caught the croup not ten days after they arrived and she had been too tired and frazzled to spend the emotional energy doing more than just the bare minimum for the other two.

It was during that first round of medicine and sleepless nights that she had separated the twins.  She had kept them together in the vain hopes that they would eventually settle down and realize they still had each other, but by that point she just wanted them to be quiet.

And it had worked. 

They still cried, of course, but without the other right beside them they quickly tired out and went quiet.  It had felt wrong, but she just didn’t know what else to do.

Then Marge had bloody insisted on still coming down for the Hols, even with Dudley just now getting better and the recent addition of the twins, and Petunia just _knew_ Vernon would be beyond unreasonable if Marge was not able to stay in ‘her’ room.  Her husband loved her in his own way, but he was also a man very set in his ways and ‘my word is law’ and when he chose to be unpleasant- well, he was very good at it and knew all her weakest points.

So she had grimly gone into the girl’s room to put her back with her brother, muttering to herself as went, and somehow, for the first time in months, it seemed as if luck had been on Petunia’s side.

The two had begun to amuse themselves, and when they did cry it was usually for good reason- like a soiled nappy in between changing times.

Petunia greatly appreciated peace in her household.

It had not been until the Marge Incident yesterday- and how dare that she devil lay hands on her sister’s children!  Petunia might not appreciate their presence, but that didn’t give Marge the right to manhandle them!- that Petunia had come up with her new plan.

Heather had spoken.  Heather, who had not said a single word in the two months she had been under Petunia’s care, had spoken clearly and had managed to appeal to Vernon’s practicality, derailing the situation before it went nuclear.

Protecting a troublesome younger sibling and pragmatism were things Petunia could appreciate.

Thus came the new plan: getting Heather to see that things for her and Harry would be much more pleasant if they stayed to themselves. 

While it might sound calloused, Petunia had no intention of pouring herself and her care and her time into two children that would just be taken away from her in a few years.  She lost her grandparents five years ago, her parents nearly three years ago, and her sister just a few months ago. 

Petunia was more than done losing people she loved. It would be much better for her to keep her distance from these two, and if she and Heather could come to a ladies agreement early on, it would be better for everyone.

With that thought firmly in mind, she spun around to complete her self-appointed mission.  She only had a little more time before her family returned, after all, and it wouldn’t do for Vernon to return and not find lunch waiting for him.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Despite the constant effort of trying to block out the fact that she had _lost an entire life in the blink of an eye_ \- and had recently lost her third set of parents- entertaining Harry was pretty fun.  He was such an energetic little guy and always willing to try something new as long as she did it with him.  It was far more involved than she was used to, but it tired them both out and most of her silly games were actually educational, so there.

Her favorite question to answer was his excited, “Why?”, which he said about every two and a half seconds.

It also was her least favorite word of his.

It was complicated.

Time marched on. Though sometimes it felt slower whenever she was smacked in the face with her chafing lack of independence, Heather knew that she absolutely must concentrate on the individual steps instead of how she had to go, otherwise she would go positively insane.

The only particular thing of note that happened in the early part of the new year was that Petunia actually gave them a pack of fruit snacks- they never got those, just fruit cups- one day, murmuring: “She would have been twenty-two today.”.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

By the time spring rolled around Harry had gotten fairly good at the ‘holding it’ game.  His vocabulary and speech had also improved by leaps and bounds, as Heather was constantly chatting away at him or singing half-remembered baby songs to him in order to better improve her own articulation skills.

It was a win-win situation, really.

However, one morning when Petunia came to give them their mid-morning check-up Heather interrupted the status quo.

She was _so_ done with diapers and being helpless it was positively unreal.

“We would like to use the big person potty, Aunt Petunia.”  Heather informed her firmly, dying a little on the inside at her phrasing, but she hadn’t figured eloquence would be needed- or appreciated- in this situation.

Besides, they hadn’t even been given any books to paw at just yet, so how was she supposed to know the proper word for ‘toilet’ or ‘loo’?

Petunia paused just passed the doorway and a strange look came over her face before she stepped fully inside and crossed her arms.  “Oh?”

Heather nodded decisively and Harry copied her enthusiastically.  “We wanna go by ourselves, like big kids!”  The adult-turned-toddler tried out her most innocent smile.  “Please?”

Thus began the reclamation of Heather’s independence.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

The slow but steady reclamation of her independence.

It was a work in progress, really.

In other news, Heather was _so proud_ of her baby!

Er, her brother.  They were the same physical age, she often had to remind herself.

The thing about living to be nearly forty was that a person realized that age, after a certain amount of years, sort of blurred into the background. 

She was fully supportive of protecting children and adolescents from predators, and particularly passionate about protecting youngsters from authority figures who would abuse the inherent trust that came from such positions, but she also knew that sometime in the mid-twenties a person woke up wondering when in the sam hell they had become a ‘responsible adult’.  From there on out time was measured more in important events and significant happenings than linear years, causing a fundamental shift in perspective.

Really, from that point on there were whippersnappers, peers, and elders. 

Whippersnappers, of course, generally referring to anyone under the age of twenty.  At first, that was.  For her that threshold seemed to progress upwards the more tired of melodramatic crap and manufactured drama she got permanently fed up with.  There was the occasional whippersnapper who was the exception to the rule, of course, but they were viewed more akin to little padwans or younger cousins. Young people who might need some old person wisdom that isn’t totally out of date, really.

Peers were a wide-ranging category who ran the gambit from barely tolerated coworkers, to potential love interests, to people she actually liked to converse with occasionally.  For Before-her, that transition period after high school had been painful, mostly because she had stepped back and took a long look at the people she had once known.  And- well, her values as a humbled being who had needed to move home after a series of truly unfortunate mishaps.  She hadn’t stayed there long, but it had happened and it had caused a difference the size of the Grand Canyon between her and her former friends.  And making friends as an adult was strange, especially for an introvert of her caliber.

Her husband was her awesome best friend with benefits.  Dear God in Heaven, did she miss that man.  Maybe they hadn’t been the traditional couple, with roses and anniversary dates or makeup kisses in the rain, but they’d loved each other fiercely in their own way.  They had had each other’s backs in any situation; they had been each other’s shoulder to cry on when things imploded or exploded, and his absence was a nearly physical ache, more so than any of the others that she had lost.  Then again, she had gotten married young, so by the time her memories of Before cut out, she had been married for over half her life, to the same man.

Elders.  Most were given a baseline of respect until they proved to be entirely undeserving of it.  Most were amusing and more than a little refreshingly blunt.

The point was, after a certain point, to the mind; age was mostly relative to experiences or milestones.  Sure, the body got creakier the older one got, and certain things began to sag that didn’t use to, but a certain type of person just really didn’t care about that as much as the sum of their experiences.

But her internal struggles did nothing to dampen her excitement at her baby’s accomplishments! 

It had only taken a month for him to get a real grasp of using the toilet properly, and now they only had to wear nappies at night!  The nappies at night thing didn’t make Heather very happy, but it was a work in progress.

Now to convince Petunia that they were able to properly clean themselves afterwards.

 _‘Little steps._ ’  She reminded herself firmly as she turned on Harry’s newest favorite thing ever: the Speak and Spell. The orange, yellow, and red plastic noisemaker was a hand-me-down, Dudley had gotten it for Christmas and the screen was now splinter cracked as a result of one of his tantrums.  Petunia had given it to them as a ‘reward’ for their potty training efforts, which annoyed Heather to no end as Petunia had hardly done anything, but at least it gave Heather an excuse to jump start Harry’s education.

Toddlers did _not_ do abstract, but as long as she could make it a game or something he could see, touch, taste, or smell, Harry was all too happy to indulge her.

Her baby was _so cute!_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

“But Aunt Petunia.”  Heather pleaded earnestly.  “Think about how much easier it would be for you if Harry and I wore the same clothes!”

Petunia’s lips pressed together in a firm, unhappy line.  “Explain yourself, girl.”

Heather and Harry would be turning three soon, and had been in the care of the Dursley family for over a year. 

They had survived their second Marge Holiday Visit, and had even been given a couple of Dudley’s broken toys wrapped up in a supermarket bag as ‘presents’.

Heather had running tally of things to discuss with Harry when he was older, and being thankful for grudgingly given scraps was one of them.  It was one thing to be grateful for a heartfelt gift that might be a hand-me-down or bought used; those types of gifts were to be cherished. However, gifts given with cruel or manipulative intentions were to be mistrusted and scrutinized. 

Heather utterly _refused_ to allow her baby to feel beholden to these people without a fight.  Blood Wards and decent portions of meals or not, the Dursleys overall treatment of the twins was disgusting, and Heather rebuffed the idea of allowing the twisted mind games of the household to hurt her baby any more than absolutely necessary.

Hell, sometimes she found her town thoughts slithering into the quagmire of the Dursleys subtle campaign of undermining the twins’ value as human beings, and she wasn’t actually an impressionable child!

So, no way in hell was Heather allowing them to hurt her baby more than absolutely necessary.  Even if it meant having to explain things to Harry that might be upsetting or uncomfortable.  Her baby deserved better than to think his life was somehow worth less than anyone else’s life because the adult Dursleys were shitty people!

Heather had to be careful to not think about how much different things could be had she woken up as an adult or something useful.   Therein lay the path to Hysteria and, thus, she focused far more on what she could do than what she couldn’t.

Aside from Heather’s subtle attempts to gently point out how terrible the Dursleys truly were, nothing overly exciting had happened since the Marge visit.  Well, save for Petunia now bringing them their food and making them eat at a little table off to the side in their room.

Thankfully, Heather could help Harry with his table manners or they would hardly have gotten anything to actually eat there for a while.  All Petunia did was set the food in front of them and leave, coming back about ten or fifteen minutes later to clean up the carnage, regardless if they were done or had spilled something or had not eaten anything.

If Heather took any vindictive satisfaction from Petunia’s look of surprise at Harry’s manners when she did catch them eating, that was Heather’s business.

Her baby was so smart!  And adorable!  Take that, Banshee!  Ha!

The twins did get to go outside once in a while nowadays, as Petunia would occasionally take Dudley to the park or she’d put the twins in Number Four’s fenced-in backyard while she cleaned their room.  Trips to the park were few and far between, though, mostly because Dudley was obviously spoiled and didn’t always get along with the other children. 

There was only so much Petunia could say in his defense when _everyone_ saw Dudley hit another child, after all.

Dudley had free run of the house, but Heather and Harry most often stayed in their room.  Heather was leery of opening the window- it didn’t have a screen, for goodness’ sakes!- and usually they left the door open to the hallway and turned on the fan, to prevent the room from feeling cage-like.  Technically, the fan was supposed to be in Marge’s rom, but Petunia hadn’t actually taken Heather to task about it. 

Petunia had taken out the playpen- about ten months ago or so- and put in an old daybed, leaving the rug and a wide, open space in the middle of the room.  With the right positioning, the room was actually fairly spacious, even with the overflowing closet holding broken junk. Heather had gotten much better at darting over to Dudley’s room while Harry napped and liberating things for the twins to play with.  Dudley honestly had enough junk in his room what Heather took rarely was noticed.  And if something was noticed, Petunia would usually insist that her ‘precious popkin’ get a new one, as the twins’ liberated toys were usually damaged in some way.

Instead of allowing herself to feel caged and trapped, which was a constant struggle for someone who had once known the inherent freedom of adulthood, Heather took great pains to transform their room into their ‘safe place’. 

She grabbed blankets and construction paper and cheap plastic wristbands and made them into props for the wild reenactments of the adventures she had most loved. She told Harry about Hobbits, Elves, and dragons; of Azeroth, and King Llane, and Tirion Fordring; of the White Witch, Queen Lucy the Valiant, Aslan, and Cair Paravell; of shinobi, the fearless Uzumaki, and Kurama; of Cloud, Sephiroth, and Jenova.  She told him all the stories she could possibly remember and then some more, and slowly the little details that scattered around the room- the badly cut out shape of Cair Paravell, the glitter they had used for the Elves’ hair, the orange ribbon hey had knicked for Kurama’s tails- made it feel less like a cage and more like their own, personal kingdom.

However, Heather had a few things she would not be settling with for the sake of peace, and wearing silly, frilled dresses were one of them.

It was a rather irresponsible thing to be upset with- after all, she and Harry weren’t living in a cupboard just yet- until one realized the circumstances.  Before-her had gone to private, religious schools most of her growing up years.  She hadn’t fit- into the dresses that were the only dress code for girls or into the cliques that were such a big part of small, prestigious schools- and that ill-fitting, unwanted, scum-on-the-bottom-of-a-rich-kids-shoes feeling followed her every time she put on a dress.  Even as an adult, she had preferred pants or skirts, because a full body dress made her feel like that awkward nine year old, fruitlessly trying to be someone she wasn’t all over again.  Dresses- especially the ones Petunia preferred- were an unwelcome reminder of all the insecurities she had had to learn to live with once upon a time already.

So, to her, this fight was worth fighting. 

“If we both wear the same clothes it’ll make laundry easier.”  Heather pointed out sensibly.  As it was, Petunia washed their clothes and left them piled in a basket just inside the twins’ rooms, so they usually had to sort and fold the blasted things themselves anyways.  “And then we’ll be able to mix and max our own outfits, and we won’t need help.”  Heather blinked innocently up at her now-thoughtful aunt.  “And boys’ clothes are cheaper, right?  That’s what Mrs. Peterson said at the Market last week, and she was really pleased with your thriftiness!”

Mrs. Peterson being one of the Wisteria Walk ladies, who were technically a bit wealthier than Privet Drive’s inhabitants, and very much people Petunia Dursley wanted to please.  Of course, Mrs. Peterson had been talking about the boys, who had been wearing similar overalls-and-t-shirt outfits, but, meh; semantics.

Heather saw her aunt wavering and went in for the kill.  “Plus, when Uncle Vernon tries to complain about your shopping at the higher-end stores-“  As he had done not two weeks ago, and the Dursley home had been quite uneasy for at least four days afterwards.  When Petunia and Vernon fought, Number Four became a Cold War Zone.  “-tell him that the clothes are investments.  You know, you buy them for Dudley and then we can use them later?  Kind of like Window Fenway does for her grandkids?”

Petunia’s lips pursed for a moment, but finally she reluctantly nodded in agreement.  “And you’re certain you don’t want to wear proper girl clothes, girl?”

“I’d rather share with Harry, Aunt Petunia.”  Heather assured her aunt with her best bullshit smile. 

The elder woman sniffed disapprovingly and muttered some uncomplimentary things, but nodded sharply in agreement.  “Go gather up your clothes and meet me in the laundry room, then.”

Heather gave her eavesdropping brother a discreet thumbs up as she scurried past.

_‘Success!’_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Just after the Marge Holiday Visit the year they all would turn four, Petunia took to locking them all three children inside the twins’ room while she took a nap in the afternoons.

Thus began the journey of the twins and Dudley coming to a general consensus.

To be fair, Heather had noticed that her aunt had been battling bouts of nearly debilitating fatigue since she had first begun truly observing Petunia.  Heather suspected that Petunia should see a doctor about her issues, but knew that Petunia would not.

Good, proper housewives were thankful for what they had and did not cause a fuss, after all.

If it had just been the boys, they no doubt would have hated each other even more intensely and torn the room apart.  However, it had taken Heather all of an hour to snare Dudley’s childish attention with her storytelling abilities. There had been a bit of a problem at first, since Heather had refused to continue the story after Petunia had woken up from her nap, and Dudley had thrown a massive, I’m-gonna-break-everything-until-I-get-my-way tantrum.  Surprisingly enough, Heather hadn’t had to do any fast talking that time, as Petunia had _actually_ _disciplined_ her son, for once.  After he’d gotten through breaking his way through his newest gadgets, Petunia had crossly informed Dudley that if he didn’t behave she’d put him in his room by himself the next day.

Dudley didn’t believe her and kept throwing a tantrum until his father came home.  At which point Vernon had- visibly, it was terribly apparent and vastly amusing to Heather- weighed his son’s perceived injustice against risking his already unhappy wife’s ire, judged Dudley to be the lesser of two evils, and supported his wife’s assertion.

Confused but committed, Dudley had continued throwing a tantrum until bedtime.  The next day Petunia locked him in his room around the same time she had taken a nap the day before.  After about ten minutes- Heather noted the time because Dudley’s room had gone entirely silent- Petunia knocked on his door and asked him if he had had a change of heart. 

Dudley had and was promptly made Heather’s problem.  She had been less than thrilled.

Dudley and Harry still didn’t exactly get along- Dudley was a truly spoiled brat and Harry was surprisingly obstinate about his dislike of sharing Heather or her stories- but they could at least tolerate each other in small doses.

Sometimes.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Petunia couldn’t remember when the girl had begun to talk in full sentences, but Heather’s articulate nature no longer surprised her.  Whether it was Lily’s _freakishness_ shining through or simply the girl being unnaturally bright to begin with, Petunia couldn’t say.  Then again, Lily had always been frighteningly intelligent as well, and the girl had her sister’s hair.  It was about three shades darker and two shades deeper than Lily’s bright orange-red; a dark auburn red that wound itself into curls the longer down her back it went, like their mother’s hair had been.  Petunia was not entirely sure where the girl had gotten the nearly violet, deep blue eyes, but she assumed it came from that bastard Potter’s family. 

However much Heather used that intelligence to keep the peace, Petunia feared the girl’s wrath should she genuinely feel that she and Harry had been slighted.

Petunia still shivered a little at the reminder of The Park Incident.  The look in the girl’s eyes had been just the same as Lily’s when that horrid boy had tried to come sniveling to the Evans house for forgiveness that one summer, only for her sister to resolutely and resoundedly deny him.  Lily had cared for him quite deeply, that Petunia knew for a fact, but whatever had happened had crossed a line Lily was not willing to budge up from.  And despite Lily’s lingering affection for him and her bleeding-heart do-gooder compassion for his home situation, Lily had coldly explained her _very final_ conclusion and slammed the door in his face.

(Sometimes, in her darker moments Petunia wondered if the girl wasn’t the specter of her sister, come back to haunt Petunia from beyond the grave.)

Content as the girl seemed so long as herself and the boy were adequately cared for, Petunia, was not stupid.  The woman knew that should something happen to change the status quo too much, Heather could make her life about as miserable as Petunia could make Heather’s life in return.

And that was the issue Petunia wished to avoid.  She had no desire to engage in an extended war of attrition with her very willful niece, not when Vernon and Dudders needed her to take care of them!  And therein lay the issue, as Petunia’s precious Dudders was due to begin Reception in September, and Petunia wanted to send him on by himself so that he could make friends before the twins came along.

(And stole his friends, just as Lily had always stolen hers. Up until the day that horrible boy had taken her sole remaining friend- Lily.)

Petunia briskly shook off her thoughts and refocused.  Woolgathering wouldn’t solve anything!

How was she to present this to her niece?

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather was rather amused at how nice Petunia was playing with them.  She was just waiting for the Professor from _Futurama_ to jump out and say, “Good news, everyone!”, and then proceed to inform her of something outlandishly awful.

She missed her favorite shows and movies _so much_ sometimes.  Also the internet.  And video games.  And controlling her own household, up to and including the grocery shopping.

 _‘Be patient Heather.’_   She told herself on the really, really bad days.  The ones when she couldn’t even get two seconds to herself and her introverted nature all but cried for some stillness and solitude.  _‘Childhood will only last for so long and then you’ll be able to take control of your life again.’_

Truthfully, she had felt relieved when Petunia had announced that she and Harry wouldn’t be attending Reception Year.  It had taken some cajoling- and some suspiciously helpful assistance from Petunia- but Harry was mostly alright with not being able to attend.

After a month or so of sulking every time Dudley came home with an art project or talked about the friends he had made.

Their newly awarded independence to go outside or even down to the park at the intersection of Privet Drive and Magnolia Crescent went a long ways towards soothing Harry’s irritation.  Heather was simply ecstatic at having a semblance of freedom after three years of grinning and trying to ignore the stifling restrictions of being a better-not-seen-or-heard child.

While she didn’t have nightmares about her past- she never had- she tended to stay up extremely late and think.  Part of it was to reinforce things she wanted to ensure she never forgot, but a lot of it was simply her trying to recharge after a long day of just…. _being_.  

She was a tried and true introvert, something being reborn had not changed a whit.  While she could be suitably extroverted if a situation demanded it, that was mostly thanks to having easy access to a lifetime of watching others and trying to awkwardly copy other people’s social interactions.  She’d tended to overthink her words- still did, to a certain extent- and if a social interaction veered too far off from the mental ‘scripts’ she had pre-prepared, things got stressful.

Introvert or no, however, if she found someone who was on her wavelength- like her husband had been, and _dear Lord in Heaven_ did she miss him just as dearly now as she had when she’d first arrived- she could chatter their ear off.  Or ears.

It was all very complicated.

Focused firmly on cultivating Harry’s childlike sense curious wonder of the world and wanting to fan the flames of his burning desire to learn, Heather had been reading books to Harry since they had first been given books to paw at; which had been shortly after the ‘Speak and Spell’ had arrived.  Practicing letters and words had started with the broken little plastic device then continuing on to writing practice when she had first gotten her hands on broken crayons and scraps of construction paper. 

Well, she had actually started in on the letters with the soft blocks in their playpen, but she doubted Harry remembered any of that. 

At any rate, she was fairly certain that he was well beyond Reception-level schoolwork.  Before-her had taught various nieces and nephews how to read- she’d been the cool aunt, thank you very much- so it hadn’t been much of a challenge, especially with a baby as bright as hers!  So she was relieved that they had at least another year before they had to go out and face the world, because she didn’t want them to be labeled prodigies.

Not a little bit, not at all.

Actually, all it would take was an algebra book being set down in front of her and the jig would be up.  While she was reasonably decent at math, she’d been grateful for the ‘Consumer Economics’ alternative after a semester of algebra.  For some reason, complex and intricate financial equations came to her frightfully easily, while traditional algebra- ah….did not.  _At all_.

Perhaps she should have been a little less enthusiastic about teaching Harry things they shouldn’t already know, but it was the only thing that had kept her sane.  Thinking of constant new ways to teach him word associations or how to form his letters properly or expanding his vocabulary and working on his pronunciation kept her from thinking too deeply about how much she had lost.  Keeping her feelings of loss and depression and grief wasn’t quite the constant, uphill struggle it had been when she had first realized her situation, but it still sapped a great deal of her emotional and mental energy.

Thankfully, her physiology was just the same as any other young and the energy of young children was not to be underestimated.  Some days it was only her body’s energetic jitters that helped her roll out of bed and start the day.

 _‘But what am I supposed to do with Harry’s schooling?  Even if we managed to avoid Reception, Year One is just around the corner.’_  She wondered worriedly as she watched her brother sleep.  The soft, silvery slats of moonlight that filtered through their bedroom curtains were casting a gentle glow around her slumbering brother’s features, making her feel even more conflicted _.  ‘I don’t want to discourage him from studying- not when he’s so smart, and genuinely likes to learn- but I also don’t want him to draw too much attention.  And Vernon will be positively unbearable if we score higher than Dudley, he golfs with the Superintendent, or whatever England calls them, I still forget to use the ‘proper’ terms sometimes. ‘_   Heather sighed softly and wriggled backwards, setting her back against the daybed’s frame and pulling Harry’s head into her lap.

Harry grumbled a little, but this was a usual occurrence, he just resettled and fell back into deep sleep.  It didn’t even rate an eye-opening.

 _‘So, to downplay or not to downplay?  And to what extent?’_ Heather worried her bottom lip and stared hard at the wall, but sleep and clarity eluded her.  _‘And how to accomplish this without damaging Harry’s budding desire to learn?’_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

It took Harry all of a month into Year One to become entirely disenchanted with Surrey Primary School and pretty much all the people in it.

Part of Heather hurt, because her baby hurt.  He’d made new friends and then they had abandoned them- a combination of nasty rumors from Petunia,  Vernon’s money, and the social cred awarded to Dudley thanks to teachers wanting to suck up to their boss- and the teacher, a Mrs. Greer, was the crabbiest woman on the face of the planet who seemed to delight in plonking the Dunce Cap on Harry’s head.

Harry had been moody, weepy, and angry- usually in that order- the entire first month.  It had been stressful and upsetting for them both, as seeing Harry upset tended to make Heather angry.  And Heather being righteously angry caused a migraine-worthy dissonance between what her childish instincts wanted and the way her mature mind instructed her to answer such nuisances.  It made her crabby, though she did have excellent control over her tongue, so it was mostly just her radiating a sense of disapproval, which either annoyed or upset Harry, adding to the cycle.

Heather was thankful for sarcasm and her favorite movie lines.  Harry usually laughed at them, even without context, and gleefully folded the phrases into his vocabulary, giving the twins a rather interesting series of insider idioms.

As an unpleasant addition, Heather had learned to make sure to be careful of her intense desire to maim, kill, and destroy those who harmed Harry.  One day Vernon had come home grumbling about how he had spilled at least one of _everything_ onto himself that day and she had distinctly remembered intently wishing for the stupid, selfish oaf to have to wear his food that very morning, as helping with breakfast had become the twins’ new chore, now that they were in school.  She had been thinking of Nascar-styled jackets with serving sizes emblazoned on the pictures of greasy hamburgers and piles of bacon, as he had been complaining about the dryer shrinking his favorite trousers, but she didn’t really want to tempt fate too loudly.

Then, part of Heather was exasperated and sort of regretted her planned ‘prank’ of Harry answering the odd questions and her answering the even ones.   

(“We’re _twins_!  C’mon, it’ll be funny!”)

 Before school had started, Harry had thought that it would be hilarious, and now he kept doing it because of pure spite. 

Come to find out, Mrs. Sneer- Harry’s persistent nickname for her- was set to get a bonus if all the children in her class averaged higher than the other Year One classes.  Something that had happened for the last umpteen million years, apparently.  Once Heather had explained what that meant and how such a thing was calculated, Harry had stubbornly stuck to every other odd question, with the most ridiculous answers he could think of in the other blanks.

Heather was proud and horrified in the same moment.  She cheerfully copied him anyways.  Screw the old hag.

Of course, Heather had made sure to tell Harry to _always do his best_ and _answer every question carefully_ on the _important_ tests.  It was a holdover from her time Before, when assessment tests had seemed to come around every corner and her teachers had stressed the need for everyone to do their best so the school would get its grant money.  It was an internalized lesson that had stuck, and it would serve to remind her that she couldn’t afford to _assume_.

As for the tests-

Well, that hadn’t gone well.

Sort of.

The first set of assessment tests- the first of their kind to be handed out in Surrey, she later found- were handed out at the middle of the first month of school in order to ‘get a baseline for the students’.   She and Harry had barely paid more than a glancing bit of attention to the tests, easily finishing them up, and moving on with their plans to find a spot on the playground that didn’t regularly host Dudley and his gaggle of cronies.

In retrospect, that was a bit of a mistake. 

Heather had, for some reason, assumed that they would average the class score with the test score, at which point they should come out to be average students, but that was _not_ what had happened.  A Ministry of Education representative had come to the school, and the twins along with about fifteen others were told that they would be taking part of a new, advanced set of classes that had been added to the curriculum just this school year.  It required parental permission, but it was in the school’s best interest for the students to participate.

As the two youngest in the room, they had been escorted to the Headmaster’s Office and, to their horror, the Dursleys were already there.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather sucked in a bracing breath, having left the boys playing Nintendo in Dudley’s room as they could stand the sight of each other today, and determinedly made for the kitchen.

“Aunt Petunia?”  She softly called out to the woman sitting at the table.  It was the last week of the month, which meant the bank statements had arrived and thus her aunt was currently doing her meticulous reconciling of the Dursley finances.  The papers were neatly divided into piles around the monster ancient adding machine centerpiece, whose only purpose was to serve as a second opinion to Petunia and the bank’s figures.  There were at least two metal filing cabinets full of meticulously filed monthly reconciliations in Vernon’s office, and each one had an adding machine tape stapled proudly to its front.

“What do you need, girl.”  Petunia answered without raising her eyes from the papers in front of her, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.

“Well,”  Heather said slowly, trying to phrase this delicately.  This was dangerous territory she was treading, and if her gambit backfired she and Harry might end up in the cupboard as indentured servants yet. 

Petunia must have sensed something because she paused in her dutiful inspection of the numbers and gave Heather a gimlet glare over the top of her reading glasses. “Can it wait?”

Heather nodded gamely.  “Yes, but it is something I’d rather talk to you about alone.”

Her brows drew together a bit and her expression soured but Petunia nodded curtly. “Very well.  I will reach a stopping point shortly.  Make another pot of tea and then sit.  Quietly.”

As she went to do as she had been bid, Heather mentally ran over her conversation topic and tried to iron out her arguments.  Fortunately, the motions to make tea was fairly familiar by now, so she could afford for her thoughts to wander.

Proper British Tea, all caps needed, was actually fairly simple to make.  At least Petunia Evans-Dursley tea was: boil water in stovetop tea pot, situate two tea bags on opposite sides of the serving teapot, pour boiling water into serving teapot and immediately cover, wait about five minutes or so, and then serve into teacups.  Add sugar and milk as desired.

In the time Before she had liked sweet tea and sun tea well enough, but nowadays- well, that was still the case.  She tried to tough it out, really, but she would rather drink plain water than the Dursleys’ usual tea blends.  Though the so-called ‘breakfast’ tea was the blend Heather tolerated best.  She wasn’t sure if it was a psychological thing or just a taste bud thing, but that was just how it was for her.

By the time she had retrieved everything, placed it in the serving tray, and then got it all to the table, her aunt was waiting for her.

“So what did you wish to discuss with me?”  Petunia asked her after the woman had doctored her tea to her liking.

Heather took one last bracing breath, straightened her shoulders, and regarded her ant as coolly as she could manage.  “I wanted to talk to you about Hogwarts.”

“Where did you hear that name?” Petunia hissed venomously as she leaned forward and glared at Heather.  Petunia only paused briefly in her efforts to turn Heather to a crisp with the force of her gaze to glance about the room nervously, as if expecting one of the neighbors to sprout from the wall and cry out in triumph.

“I overheard uncle …...talking about it with you.”  Heather admitted without an ounce of shame.   “The night after The Meeting.”

“That was nearly a month ago, girl.”  Petunia bit out frostily, still learning forward and glaring at Heather with all of her might.  “Why bring this up now?”

As Heather had suspected, Petunia was more focused on the ‘Hogwarts’ part and not really on the ‘overheard’ part.  Vernon had gotten deep enough into his cups that night it had been sheer luck that Mr.-and-Mrs. Number 6- their neighbors to the left which was on the office side of the house- had been out visiting family that week.  Seeing as how the twins’ room was directly above the office and they didn’t have a telly to drown out the noise, it was a rather moot point that Heather had overheard.

“I understand that you don’t really want us here.” Heather hurried to assure the highly upset woman, trying to convince her that Heather was on _her_ side in all of this.  “But you still let us live under your roof anyway.”

Not willingly, and they likely would have been dumped elsewhere without the whole ‘wizards will come after you and your family if these Wards, powered by your shared blood and based on your sister’s sacrifice, aren’t there to protect you’ part of the Headmaster’s letter, but hey- Heather felt no need to mention that. 

It is what it is, and all that.  And Heather didn’t want to explain when she had had time to go through Petunia’s underthings drawer.

The things Heather did for her and her brother’s happiness.  Who knew that Petunia liked gauzy lace nighties under her usual gaudy, flowery curtain-like dressing robes?

“So I spent my Library and Recess periods searching for a way to keep the peace.  Because I know the….changed classes have upset Uncle Vernon a great deal.”  Heather continued as smoothly as she could, trying to channel ‘sympathy’ into her body language and tone of voice.  “And I think I might have found a way to, possibly, ease the transition.”  Heather tried to give her aunt a dazzling smile.  “At least, with your help it might be a pretty good plan, and I really don’t want to cause any more stress for you than absolutely necessary.”

Petunia’s expression was still pinched and angry, but she seemed to be sort of curious and relieved, so Heather counted that as a win for now.

“Oh?”  Petunia retorted testily, leaning back in her chair and primly folding her hands on the table in front of her.  “And what childish scheme could possibly help against _those_ kinds of people?” 

‘ _The condescension is strong with this one_.’  Heather thought drolly, mentally rolling her eyes at the woman.

“According to what uncle mentioned, we should receive an invitation the summer we turn eleven.”  Heather tried to use proper English, as childishness at this point would undermine her credibility.  As would quoting any of the _actual_ words Vernon Dursley had slurred that night.  “The laws are confusing, thanks to all the changes that are being made under Prime Minister Thatcher, but I have an idea.”

 _‘Gross understatement, thy name is Heather Potter_.’ 

Petunia sniffed in disapproval, her dislike of the Iron Lady was rather well known.

“However, _Mum_ went to school before then, didn’t she?”  Heather persisted levelly, crossing her ankles and tucking them against the leg of the chair to keep from fidgeting.  “And there has to be _something_ on record.  More to the point, there must be _something_ on Grandmum and Granddad’s yearly forms, right?  The government has to have some sort of explanation, after all.  At the very least there has to be an office, somewhere-“  Here Heather trailed off and stared pointedly at the financial statements in front of Petunia.

It took a few nerve-wracking minutes, but eventually Petunia’s face lit up with a mix of unholy glee and relief.

 _‘Thank you, Jesus!’_   Heather mentally cheered.

“So I was thinking that we could find out whatever the records say and then we could find and address and post a letter.  All government administration offices have an address, don’t they?”  Heather finished, much more cheerful now that Petunia seemed to be invested in the conversation.  “And then, based on whatever information we get, we can plan out a story that works for everyone without having to mention anything….unusual.”  Heather smiled kindly, trying to seem understanding.  “Having a firm plan in place to prevent any gossip might make uncle more agreeable and that would be best for everyone.”

The boys’ squabbling voices came floating down the stairs and Heather sighed, knowing that the conversation was at an end.  “I should go mediate.”  She said with an apologetic grin.  “But just….think about it, ok Aunt Petunia?”

Heather didn’t wait for her aunt to dismiss her; she slipped off her chair and darted towards the stairs.

_‘Hopefully the magical world isn’t as backwards as it seemed in the books and there actually is some sort of system in place for all the Hogwarts kids with nonmagical parents.  Otherwise, this small victory is going to get really sour, really fast.’_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather had honestly thought that her aunt would procrastinate and require a few more rounds of persuasion, but that was very much _not_ what had happened.

Barely a week from her mentioning the idea, her aunt had whisked her away on a Saturday for a ‘girls day’- something which had confused the hell out of the boys and made Harry suspicious on sheer principle- and she found herself seated in a cheerfully cute little deli-café thing on the outskirts of London.  The table held a fresh tray of tea and goodies, and they were currently waiting on some type of representative, according to Petunia.

Her aunt had waited until their platter was delivered before she set about explaining.  “When you two arrived, I was left with a letter and nothing else.”  Petunia’s voice was pitched low enough that only Heather, who was sitting beside her and squished up against the wall, could hear her words clearly.  “As a…normal person, I had no idea how to contact….those people.” 

Heather looked at her aunt and felt her grudging appreciation for Petunia edge upwards a bit.  For all that she was a bitter, vicious gossip who overindulged both her son and her husband to the point of excess, the woman underneath was slightly softer.  Gentler than Petunia’s usually serrated edges and harsh tongue; a glimpse at a woman doing the best she could in an unpleasant situation that was being orchestrated by powerful people who technically didn’t even exist to the world at large.

Heather could empathize, to a certain extent.  Petunia was well and truly stuck between a rock and a hard place; stuck between her desire to fulfill her obligations to her remaining living family and her husband and the life she had built for herself that was entirely, unequivocally safe and normal.

Petunia was not a tolerant person.  She was not understanding or compassionate or willing to learn and reevaluate her opinions or beliefs.  She had a niche and that was where she wanted to stay.  Anything that challenged her worldview was derided with especially caustic and cutting cynicism, and that was just who she was.  Who she was happy to remain being.

It didn’t matter that Heather found such an outlook appalling and horribly drab, it wasn’t Heather’s place to try and change someone who emphatically did not want to change.

Ergo, sending magical children into Petunia Dursley’s domain had been the worst idea ever.

“There was a time.”  Petunia continued in a softer tone, eyes continually watching out for the waiter or eavesdroppers.  “When I sent a letter to the headmaster of… _that_ place, but at that time I used an….artifact that belonged to your mother.”  Petunia blinked away the moisture that appeared in her eyes determinedly and plowed forward before Heather could gather her wits.  “By the time you two arrived…. _those_ people left you on the stoop, in November, just so you know, there was no longer anything I had access to that I could use to contact them.”

That……

Well, it made a lot of sense, actually.

Heather had always wondered, both Before and occasionally in the now, if Petunia had held a way to contact the magical world or knew about Mrs. Figg’s status as the Headmaster’s plant.  But if she was entirely cut off from any sort of communication with people who could actually help if Harry had a particularly nasty bout of accidental magic,- yeah, that would definitely ramp up the blonde woman’s anxiety level.  Petunia Dursley was all about order and schedules, such a major unknown could easily drive the rigid and immaculate woman senseless.

“I never thought to look up my parent’s records.”  Petunia continued softly, beginning to worry the napkin she had already draped across her lap.  “Trying to find records to apply for our stipend to cover the costs of housing you two was enough of an ordeal.” Her lips pressed together in a thin, unhappy line, but before she could continue an older woman entered.

Petunia’s attention was focused intently on the badge- a simple hexagon with a four pointed star inside it; displayed on upper left side of the woman’s blazer- from the moment the door opened, which drew Heather’s attention as well.

She was a fairly unassuming looking lady, with salt-and-pepper colored hair pulled back in a neat bun, a kindly looking face, and horned glasses perched pertly on her somewhat large nose. The lady’s outfit was very conservative, with its ankle length dark blue skirt, only moderately fitted white blouse with the immaculately matched blazer over it, and one of those little lady-throat-brooch looking things.

Heather missed Google enough on a normal day, but sometimes she missed it more keenly than usual.

As if sensing their stare, the woman locked eyes with Petunia, smiled and headed towards them, stopping just short of their table, her little beaded bag clutched firmly in her hands. “Mrs. Dursley?”  She inquired kindly, an accent Heather couldn’t immediately place underscoring her words and a kind expression her face.

Then again they lived in Europe, accents were sort of dime a dozen, something that still surprised Heather a little.

“Yes.”  Petunia responded briskly, straightening up and tilting her chin up a bit.  “You must be Representative the letter mentioned?”

“You are correct, Mrs. Dursley.”  The woman replied serenely, gracefully taking a seat just across from them and helping herself to the tea service already set out on the table.  “My name is Constance Rausch, please call me Connie.”  Constance turned away from Petunia and smiled warmly at Heather.  “You may call me Madam Connie, dear.  And may I ask what your name is?”

“Heather.”  Was all she managed before Petunia pinched her thigh under the table.  Not enough to hurt her, just enough to make her pause.

Constance didn’t seem to mind.  “That’s a lovely name, dear!”  She turned back to Petunia, absently pulling out a business card from her purse and setting down at the edge of the table and giving it a firm tap with her index finger.  As she did so, Heather felt a strange sensation, akin to a very mild static charge pass over her skin before the woman nodded in satisfaction and finished her statement.   “And what might an Intermediary such as myself assist you with today?”

Petunia shifted around a bit and settled her lightly trembling hands around her cold tea, but her face was entirely expressionless.

Heather had to quietly admire Petunia’s sheer stubbornness, if nothing else.  The woman was clearly uncomfortable and out of her element but determined to see this meeting through.

“My sister’s twins were brought into my care after their parents were in an accident.”  Petunia said stiffly.  “For their own safety it is best they remain under my roof, but my husband is not the most tolerant of men-“

 _‘Pot, meet kettle.’_   Heather thought irreverently, trying to not squirm and distract Petunia in this already tense situation.

“-and so I would like to plan out a reasonable explanation for when their… _special_ letter arrives.”  Petunia fussed with her tea for a moment before she added.  “Recently, thanks to a new venture by the Ministry of Education, the twins were- quite unexpectedly, mind- placed in an.…accelerated class and my husband reacted quite poorly.  We would like to avoid such a thing in the future.”  Petunia crossed her ankles, tucking them neatly to the side opposite of Heather and pulled her hands away from her cup to clasp them in her lap as she waited expectantly. 

“Understandable.”  Constance replied with an approving nod of her head.  “It is quite common all across the world for Intermediary agents, such as myself, to host meetings much like this one.”  Her lips turned downwards in a sort of neutral half-frown for a moment before she smoothed out her expression and continued.  “To be entirely honest with you, Mrs. Dursley, I am, in fact, quite relieved that you managed to get in contact with my department.”  Connie hesitated, intently studying Petunia’s face for a long moment before she added.  “The British Ministry for these sorts of things has always been a bit-ah, shall we say resentful?- of the so-called ‘meddling’ of the Intermediary Bureau.”  Connie paused and flicked a glance at Heather before looking to Petunia with a smile.  “Would you terribly mind a short history lesson?  It would make the situation a bit tidier.”

Petunia nodded stiffly, her entire being all but radiating ‘I’d rather be giving natural childbirth in public’.

 _‘I can almost hear her teeth grinding.’_   Heather thought, bemused _.  ‘But Petunia is nothing if not curious, though nosy would be a much better term, really.’_

“Excellent!”  Connie exclaimed with a bright, excited grin.  The lady turned towards Heather, her voice full of good cheer as she went on to explain.  “As you will learn about when you attend Hogwarts, our societies split entirely in 1692.  Behind the scenes, on, shall we say, my _side_ of the fence, an organization was established whose sole purpose was to ensure that the two societies remain separate.  It is quite the task, as you might be able to imagine, and we work very, very hard to stay, ah- ahead of the curve, so to speak.  My badge-“  Connie tapped the left side of her jacket pointedly.  “-means that I am part of the division that handles students from unconventional backgrounds.”

“So, um, different kids born to ordinary people?”  Heather blurted out when Connie paused expectantly.

Internally, Heather face-palmed and lamented her social awkwardness _.  ‘Eloquence, thy name is Heather Potter.’_   She thought grumpily.

Connie smiled indulgently at her.  “I prefer to use the term ‘gifted’, dear.  I feel that term generally ruffles fewer feathers, overall, while still acknowledging a need for specialized education.  As there are a great many people who are perfectly exceptional in their own way, you and I just happen to have a few more options than most.  Make no mistake, dear, how far you go in either world is entirely dependent on how much effort you choose to invest in yourself and your education.” 

Petunia quirked an eyebrow at the other woman and relaxed a fraction.

‘ _Progress_.’ Heather mentally noted with a fair bit of amusement.

“Now then, while the ICW handles any issues that might threaten to expose the gifted to the world at large, individual communities are responsible for policing their own lands, and thus each enclave has its own sets of laws and enforcement.”  Connie paused for a mom, taking a sip of tea and nibbling on a nearby pastry before she continued.

Heather could still tell that Connie was annoyed, though.  And she imagined that Petunia could tell as well.

“Now, in Britain specifically, things are dreadfully overcomplicated, but I will do my best to summarize for now, alright?”  Connie shot Heather a bright grin before easily continuing.  “Hogwarts School is located in the Scottish Highlands and was founded near the very end of the tenth century.  Its location is considered unplottable, as many places of Olde and Ancient magic are, but the land itself came from two of its Founders who hailed from noble ancestry.”  Connie quirked a wry smile and winked at Heather conspiratorially.  “Now, the other two were far from nobodies, but that would be getting off track. 

“You see, when the Statue was implemented in 1692, the magical communities in this region had already largely withdrawn from the more common settlements; in fact, most of the gifted people who lived along the coastline of modern-day Europe actually began to go into hiding as early as the seventh century!  Due to that fact, the Ministries are largely, well nearly entirely, separate from the modern governments.”  Connie took another sip of tea and waved gesticulated lightly with her hands.  “Oh, there’s a treaty here and there to protect notable families- such as the Royal families- or persons in particular positions that were instituted mostly as the behest of in-the-know family members way back when, or during the Split Years.  There have been several wars- most notably the Second World War- when disaster and discovery were very nearly certain, but for the most part, you must know that when you step foot in a gifted-held territory you are, in fact, most likely on autonomous soil.”

“So does that make me a dual citizen or something?”  Heather asked n confusion, shooting a glance at the entirely disapproving Petunia.

 _‘Her spine is so stiff it hurts my back.’_ Heather thought absently, wishing she could somehow tone down the wave of disapproval coming from Petunia’s person.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”  Connie answered bluntly.  “It is due to the highly confusing and often contradictory laws that govern individual territories that my department was even founded back in the early days after the Split, and over time our role in being the transitional gatekeepers has only grown more important.”  Connie sighed heavily and took a long draw from her tea.  “As I mentioned before, Hogwarts was founded far before the Split and that is actually quite important.”

‘ _This is about five time more complicated than I was counting on.’_ Heather admitted inside the sanctity of her own mind _.  ‘Dear gawd, what have I done?!”_

“Children born to gifted parents either send word to Hogwarts themselves, have a notary send in a birth announcement on their behalf in the case of a private or out-of-country birth, or the gifted hospital sends word to Hogwarts on behalf of new parents.  The Headmaster or his Deputy then adds the name to the Rolls.”  Connie blathered on blithely, unaware or uncaring of Heather’s internal turmoil.  “Now, very occasionally, a gifted child who was born on this side of the societal divide will manifest their talents strongly enough to be added at the behest of the Ministry, but that is actually extremely rare.  In most cases of emotional outbursts, the results are easily reasoned away and even if they are not, very few children are strong enough to overcome ambient energy that exists all around us in order to set off any alarms.  The Rolls of Hogwarts activate during the summer solstice each year and generate the coming year’s Hogwarts Acceptance Letters.”  Connie smiled apologetically at Heather and the still statue-stiff Petunia.  “Now, I have explained _all_ of _that_ so that you might understand this next part: in Britain, Scotland, and Wales, children are not considered full citizens, with all the rights and privileges attached, until they receive a letter.”

Heather’s eyes shot wide with alarm and she spoke before she thought.  “But-but what happens if a gifted kid _doesn’t_ get a letter?”

Connie’s eyes dimmed and she smiled sadly.  “In the best cases, the Intermediary Bureau is contacted and we step in to help the family, though international law makes us, above all, the child’s advocate and many…..extremely traditional families choose to forgo our assistance.”

Tears burned in her eyes as righteous anger burned in her breast _.  ‘What kind of fucked up, shitty system is that?!’_   Then another thought occurred to her, _‘Ohmy- is that why the ‘muggleborn’ parents never raised a huge fuss?!  Like when a First Year was attacked by a Troll?  They likely have no grounds on which to protest!  I wonder if they are considered a foreign national or not even given that level of consideration.’_   Heather shook her head sharply to clear away her winding thoughts.  ‘ _Wow.  Just…..wow.’_

“The twins will receive an acceptance letter.”  Petunia snapped harshly, the vehemence in her voice surprising both Heather and Constance.  “While Heather is quite adept as keeping her brother distracted whenever he is feeling highly emotional, I have seen both of them exhibit definitive signs of…m-magic-“  Petunia tilted her chin defiantly, as if daring Connie to call her a liar.  “-which means they will be considered full citizens by…. _their_ rules, correct?”

“Correct.”  Connie’s eyes warmed considerably despite Petunia’s terse tone and suddenly Heather wondered how many hysterical people the kindly looking woman had needed to rescue terrified, recently discarded children from.

It made Heather sick to her stomach to think about, really.

“Correct, Mrs. Dursley.  Once the letter is opened by its intended recipient, Hogwarts is notified.  Usually they send out a representative to escort gifted born on this side of the divide to get their supplies, but cases such as this one, while not unheard of, is definitely unique.  They might simply send an Acceptance Letter, expecting you to be able to escort your wards to the gifted shopping district.” 

Petunia’s lips twisted in disgust, and Heather couldn’t blame her.

Her aunt had just finished informing Heather that she had been left on a doorstep in November, after all.  And while Heather had already known that, hearing it said aloud just made it seem that much more irresponsible, even knowing about magic and having an idea of what magic was capable of.

Like the Second Task hostages from the books.  They had been held underwater for at least an hour in the Scottish Highlands, in February, ‘nuff said.

Hey, she hadn’t spent her time entertaining her baby with stories only to forget the details of the one she was in!  She’d told so many variations of the original Harry Potter story, under different names of course, that she could probably write a whole new series of books.

Connie clapped her hands together firmly, a bright look overtaking her features.  “Fortunately, you now have myself as your advocate!  I have a packet for you, Mrs. Dursley, to fill out for each of the twins here-“  Connie rummaged around in her impossibly small bag until she extracted two very thick, very tidy looking manilla folders and handed them over to Petunia.  “-and once you fill out the information in those packets, I will take the information and enter it into the Intermediary system.  In anywhere from five to ten business days you will receive another package in the mail- oh!”  Connie smiled somewhat apologetically.  “I feel that I should warn you that any mail you receive from my office will be entirely magic-free, though a magical original copy will be filed in my office.  It is against international law for magic-bearing post to be sent through the normal mail system, you see. “  She winked cheerfully at Heather.   “Every public mail system in the modern world has checks and balances in place to prevent magically tampered post from being sent to those unawares.  We take the safety of our clients very seriously.”

Petunia drew in a deep breath, having shuffled through several papers while Connie had been speaking.  Squaring up her shoulders she looked the older woman in the eye and asked, point-blank.  “In the letter that was left with them, the person who left my sister’s twins on my doorstep mentioned that they were in danger because of my sister and her husband’s political views.”  Petunia gave the woman a truly frightening stare.  “Will that pose a problem?”

“I act in the best interests of all my clients, Mrs. Dursley.”  Connie replied stoutly, righteously insulted, but still understanding.  “My job, first and foremost, is to ensure that the children are not in immediate danger due to the mixed nature of their household.  I can see that you are nervous around the topic of magic and you mentioned your spouse is even more uncomfortable with the topic, but as we have plenty of time and you are willing to put in the work, I am satisfied with the arrangements for now.”

Connie gave Petunia a surprisingly gimlet glare, and Petunia actually relented.

‘ _Go Connie_!’  Heather mentally cheered. 

“Seeing as we have that out of the way-”  Connie continued briskly, seeming content with her and Petunia’s new understanding of one another.  “-my main goal is to ensure that you have a contact on the other side should you need one.  And, of course, that all the paperwork and such is in impeccable order so that their withdrawal from normal schooling is well-ordered and their subsequent absence for ten months out of the year is adequately explained.”  She paused and gave petunia a far more empathetic smile.  “I realize that just my words might seem insufficient, so if you so desire, I can include a certified copy- entirely nonmagical, of course!- of my binding magical oaths in the follow-up packet.”

“That would be appreciated, thank you.”  Petunia retuned archly, relaxing a fraction and going back to perusing the papers.

“Of course!”  Connie replied cheerfully, whipping out a little notepad and jotting down a note with a smart looking pen.  One of those elegant looking fountain pens that were perfect for casual calligraphy.

Or so Heather’s art teacher a lifetime ago had always said.  Mrs. Atkins had been a font enthusiast, though, so it might have just been her personal opinion.

“Here, dear.”  Connie fussed as she searched through her beaded purse for a moment before emerging victorious.

That was to say, she put a rather cute coloring book and a little container of colored pencils and a pencil sharpener in front of Heather.

“From here on in, everything will be fairly boring for you, I’m afraid.”  Connie told Heather apologetically.  “But feel free to amuse yourself with those until your aunt and I are finished.”

Heather thanked Connie and immediately set upon the book.

What could she say?  She’d loved coloring, even as an adult with absolutely zero artistic talent.  And it wasn’t as if she couldn’t color and eavesdrop at the same time.  She used to spend entire days pretending to listen to some of her old bosses, after all.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

The Monday after the meeting with Connie, things took a sharp turn into the twilight zone. 

Well, things had been odd since the moment Petunia and Heather arrived back at Number four as Vernon, Dudley, and Harry- for the first time ever- were all allied in the opinion that they should never again be left alone together.  Their united front made life unpleasant for both Heather and Petunia, though in different ways. 

Heather felt for Petunia, she really did.  The poor woman had barely even stepped through the doorway before the two Dursley males started in on her. Vernon nitpicked everything- from the outfit Petunia had worn to the meeting, to the ‘unacceptable’ state of the house, then he shouted about having to feed ‘the boy’ takeout because they had needed to fend for themselves for lunch, and he generally grumbled irritably about absolutely everything she did from the moment she entered his line of sight.  He even grumbled about the ladies’ travel time, as if it were their fault they had needed to use public transit- Petunia didn’t have a license!  On top of Vernon’s pleasantness, Dudley was extra demanding and impatient, alternating between crocodile tears and angry diatribes if his whims weren’t somehow preempted.

Harry was sort of sulky and made sure to emphatically state just how willing he would be to endure any amount of ‘girl talk’ in order for his afternoon with the two Dursleys to never be repeated, but that was about it.

Heather made sure to be extra cuddly and finally caved to Harry’s desire for her to read _The Secret Garden_ , the novel and several others having been quietly collected from a box of charity books that had been left at the school library.

**\---XXX---**

The twins mostly stayed holed up in their room on Sunday.  Not entirely voluntarily, as they had been planning on going out into the backyard to continue reading their book.  However, when they had been in the kitchen helping with breakfast, Vernon had stumbled downstairs and started another fight with Petunia before Dudley had even woken up. 

This development prompting Heather to gather up some food for the twins and stage a strategic retreat.

Vernon and Petunia did not often fight, actually.  Their disagreements were mostly cold wars resulting in even colder meals for a few days before they found someone or something to redirect their displeasure onto. Once they were suitably distracted with tearing down someone- or _someones_ \- else, the household business continued as usual.  Which made their recent upswing in shouting matches and sleeping in separate rooms highly unusual.

It was why Heather had worked up the courage to talk to Petunia about checking her grandparents’ records, actually.  Given  the twins’ status as ‘barely tolerated’, Heather had been keenly aware that the longer Petunia and Vernon had problems with each other, the higher the likelihood of the twins ending up as the outlet for their combined frustrations.  Proper married folk did not shout and scream after all, so it would stand to reason that- given enough time to stew and indulge in their favored tracks of circular reasoning- the ‘freaks’ would be blamed.

She did wonder if something similar had happened in the books, though.  It would certainly explain how Harry’s treatment could have gone from ‘physically adequate’ to ‘borderline neglect-slash- indentured servant’.

By the time Monday rolled around the twins were well and truly restless, eager at the prospect of helping with breakfast, if only to get out of their room.  They were surprised, but pleased, when Petunia announced that they were old enough to walk to school on their own.  That the woman shoved them out the door just as Vernon began stomping down the stairs was not lost on the two.

Of course, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, or something along that line.

As Heather was reminded that afternoon.

**\---XXX---**

“You all need to choose one of these approved after school activities and have your parents or guardians sign the forms.”  Mr. Pritchard, the gifted teacher informed the class just before the last bell.  “The school will provide the basic items needed for each activity, but additional expenses should be expected for the major events or one-time purchases, as this new initiative is young yet.”

Heather actually rather liked the old man.  He was extremely tall, nearly reedy, with retreating wispy white hair, tiny square glasses, and a sincere dedication to the style of argyle.  As a classroom authority, he was calm, fair and seemed genuinely interested in seeing his students succeed.  His classroom was a mix of hastily painted walls and bright, eye-catching educational posters that were mostly geared towards the older students.  The room had been unused until just a few weeks ago, and now housed seventeen students, ranging from Year One to Year Six.  Mr. Pritchard was surprisingly adept at handling a multi-leveled class and he was well liked by nearly all of his students.  But no one really cared about Timmy the Nose Picker’s opinion anyways; Mr. Pritchard was _brilliant_.

She did not, however, like this idea.  _At all_.

“Good news, everyone.”  She muttered sarcastically to Harry, who turned to grin half-heartedly at her.

Yeah, this sucked and it hadn’t even happened yet.  Heather scanned the form, her lips tightening into an unhappy frown when she realized that there really _would_ be extra costs, no matter which club they decided on.

Meaning she couldn’t just indulge in some late-night forgery.  Damn it all.

“Heather, Harry, please stay behind a moment.”  Mr. Pritchard requested as the last bell sounded and the students all began to abandon ship. 

The twins- who together had one, entirely functional and entirely uncool knapsack- very slowly gathered their things, drawing the process out as long as they possibly could. 

In that time, two other students stayed back ad had questions answered, another one came running back in to grab something they forgot, and Mr. Pritchard started marking some essays.

Damn.  She had hoped he would have somewhere to be and change his mind about needing to speak with them.

“Mr. Pritchard?”  Heather asked reluctantly as she and Harry very unwillingly dragged themselves towards the man’s desk.  Not an overly difficult task, as they were the only Year One students in the advanced course, and their little worktable was the first workstation on the right side of the room, just in front of the man’s obviously battered metal desk.

“Ah, I was beginning to wonder if the two of you had forgotten about me.”  The man said wryly as he peered at them knowingly over the top of his thin spectacles.

Heather poked Harry in the side when he started to squirm guiltily.

The teacher sighed after a moment of heavy silence had passed by without the twins cracking under the subtle pressure and straightened up, leaning his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers together so he could use them as a chin rest.  “I realize that your inclusion in this advanced class was….rather problematic, for your Guardians.”

‘ _Understatement_.’  Heather thought crossly.  ‘ _Vernon’s still angry about it and Petunia is trying to convince everyone else that we’re a charity case.  That we’re being given special treatment or something to that effect._ ’

“And I know this new requirement might cause you some, ah, discomforts at home.”  He continued on gently, his hazel eyes kind.  “That is why I would like to suggest you choose the Surrey Youth Tennis League’s option.”  The man smiled at them and gave them a cheeky wink.  “My wife manages the Little Whinging Sports Club that’s over on Rowan Bend, you see, and because of that, my daughter-in-law is the sponsor of the tennis after-school activity in the handout, will be hosting club meetings there.”  The man’s smile dimmed a bit, but his voice was steady and entirely devoid of any trace of manipulation.

Well, any that the suspicious Heather could detect.  She didn’t believe Mr. Pritchard to be some sort of child-preying monster, but better to be cautious all the same.

“My daughter-in-law, Sarah, came from a home that was…ah, less than wholeheartedly supportive, shall we say.  “  He pursed his lips together in disapproval for a brief instant before he wiped his expression clear and shifted, so that his chin was resting on an open palm.  “While I am in no way advocating child labor, I know my wife and Sarah would be more than happy to cover any of the additional costs of the program, should you two be willing to help with some small tasks- such as running messages to customers or the like.”

“That would be _amazing_!”  Harry blurted out, eyes wide with astonishment as he bounced on his toes excitedly.

Her mind shot straight into overdrive, trying to pick apart motives and possible outcomes and such, but when Harry turned his shining eyes on her she just-

Well, she figured she could find enough passive-aggressive ways to make Mr. Pritchard’s life miserable for the next half a decade if this situation went sour.  No need for her to rain her brother’s parade with her adulthood-reinforced misgivings, not when she knew there were plenty of good people in the world who just wanted to help in whatever little way they could.

**\---XXX---**

During the walk home Harry alternated between nearly skipping with anticipation about the tennis thing and moping at their homework load.

Heather was slightly hesitant about the former and deeply amused at the latter.  Due to being put in an advanced course, the twins already had nightly homework- not a lot, but enough- and Dudley made a big deal about loudly proclaiming about how didn’t have such a thing.

Usually while sitting in front of the telly with a tub of ice cream or some other treat.

When they rounded the corner to Privet Drive, Heather stopped and tugged her brother towards the side of the walk.  “Listen, little brother.” She said, injecting her voice with enough seriousness to get Harry to stop daydreaming and listen to her.  “I’ll talk to Aunt Petunia about the activity thing when I get her to sign our homework, ok?”

Harry’s expression grew mutinous.

“I know, I know!”  She placated, giving him a quick hug before she placed her hands on his shoulders.  “You want to rub Dudley’s face in it.  We finally get to do something cool _way_ before him.  Trust me, I want to rub his nose in it too!”  Heather actually did.

Dudley was a spectacularly bratty child with nearly zero chance of discipline.  The only thing that bound the three kids together were Petunia’s naptimes, but since he had started school Dudley had become much, much more unbearable.  The boys got along for about an hour a month, unless Harry was winning at Mario Bros or Duck hunt, then it was more like, fifteen minutes, tops.

And she had already used up that quota for that foreseeable future, what with her conversation with Petunia and then leaving all three boys together with no mitigating influences for the better part of an entire day.

“But, if we brag about it and he goes running to Uncle Vernon, chances are that Uncle will forbid us from doing the activity we want out of sheer spite.”  Heather finished gently, trying to make her point without upsetting her little brother too much.

Harry sighed sadly and stepped forward so he could bury his head in the juncture of her neck.  “I hate it.”  He whispered softly, and Heather was upset to note that there were tears dampening her shirt.  “I don’t know why they’re so mean to us.  We didn’t _do_ anything!”

“I know, little one.  I do too.”  Heather soothed as she wrapped her brother up in a fierce hug, angry at her own helplessness in this situation.

If she just-

‘ _No_.’  Heather commanded herself sternly as she slammed the metaphoric door shut on that line of thought.  ‘ _That isn’t productive.  Focus on the things you can do, not impossibilities.’_

“But-“  Heather started, gearing up for the umpteenth reiteration of the same thing she had been telling him for as long as he’d been aware of just how terrible the Dursleys treated them.

Harry was annoyingly intelligent sometimes.  He’d known that the Dursleys were in the wrong since the first time Petunia had broken out the ‘if you were a good boy, like Dudders then maybe I’d hug you too’ line and Heather had come positively _un-fucking-glued_ on the woman.  No matter how much Heather had tried to distract him in the aftermath of her fiery breakdown, Harry had insisted on an explanation.

He’d been about four at the time.

“I know, I know!”  Harry cut her off irritably, pulling back and roughly scrubbing the sleeve of his shirt over his eyes.  “Hating them for being terrible people just hurts us, but….” 

Harry’s helpless, frustrated look broke her heart all over again.

“Hey.” She said with a smile, reaching over and ruffling her brother’s hair affectionately.  “It won’t be this way forever.”  Heather grinned at him and tipped forwards.  “You want to know a secret?”

Despite his recent bout of tears, Harry was instantly alert.  “What secret?” he asked somewhat interestedly, wiping away his tear tracks with his hand.

Heather grinned like a cat that ate the cream before its master discovered the missing Canary.  “Well…..”  She drawled teasingly, leaning back on her heels and grinning at her brother’s pout.

“Well?  What?! Tell me!”  Harry whined after about two seconds of silence, shuffling closer and sticking out his bottom lip in an obvious and transparent attempt to influence her into telling him her tantalizing bit of news already.

“Hm?”  Heather pretended to contemplate his outburst for a long moment before she flashed him a quick grin and took off running.  “I’ll tell you if you beat me back to the house!”

“No fair!”  Harry yelled after her, tripping a little when he went to start chasing her.  “Cheater!”

**\---XXX---**

Harry did not, in fact, beat her back to Number Four.  He did, however, laugh and was in a much better mood- if not a bit sulky about losing.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――


	2. Childhood Arc, Part II

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Harry was more than a little sulky about Heather getting stuck helping Petunia with dinner while he was sent off to vacuum the living room rugs, but he didn’t complain.

 _Too_ much.  The vacuum’s noise covered most of it.

Heather, meanwhile, was peeling potatoes rather mechanically at the sink while she tried to order her thoughts, which wasn’t working out very well for her as her thoughts kept waddling off in random directions.  She kept enough just enough of her awareness on Petunia to prevent the still-frazzled woman from tripping over her, but that was about it.  From the looks of things, Petunia was making obscene amounts of all Vernon’s dinnertime favorites, most likely in yet another attempt to prove just how committed Petunia was to the _Dursley_ portion of her family.

People were _so strange_ , sometimes!

So the scents of Beef Wellington, a full roast, various side dishes, and more than one pie clogged the kitchen air, making Heather’s tummy rumble longingly, even though she and Harry had both been given decent after-school snacks.

Heather hummed a half-forgotten tune as she reached for another rinsed potato, absently wondering if Petunia would accept the suggestion of burying the skins under the flowerbeds, as it bothered Heather to see usable organic matter wasted.

It was something her Granny and her Grandma- both of them being gardening enthusiasts- had done. 

Not Before-her.  She hadn’t been able to keep an Aloe Vera plant alive. 

It might have just been a Midwestern thing, but it was fairly common practice for Heather to spend the end of the summer digging down into the flower beds.  Granny had just used old buckets collected from crafting projects or store-bought products, like kitty litter, to store her winter compost in, usually with holes drilled in the top for better air circulation.  Grandma had been a little more finicky about appearances and had used a rather well-camouflaged, heavy duty plastic container for her compost. They layered grass and leaves in the containers, to help with the breakdown of matter, but it had always seemed to make a difference with the flowers or vegetables.

The end result was a fair bit of fertilizer for the flower beds, and it might have been Heather’s familial bias showing, but their flower beds had been the brightest, lushest beds in their respective counties.

Eh, what the hell?  Petunia was glaring down at her half-mixed cake mix and seemed to be on the verge of snapping anyways.

“Aunt Petunia?”  Heather asked, not looking up from her assigned task.

“What?”  The elder woman retorted, with no small amount of bite to her voice.

‘ _Yeah_ ,’ Heather thought with a fair bit of amusement, ‘ _someone needs a distraction._ ’

“I was just wondering if we were going to save the peels?”  Heather continued cheerfully, gleaning no small amounts of amusement at her bit of petty satisfaction.  “You know, for the flowers come summer.”  Heather’s brain supplied her with a tidbit of information, and she valiantly resisted the urge to grin.  “We learned about compost at school, and I just thought it might help Number Four win next year’s Flower Drive!”

Petunia’s prized yard had come in at third place this past summer.  Heather had nearly forgotten.  Silly her!

“I will not have my house stink to high heaven!”  Petunia spat viciously from her place by the ancient Kitchen-Aid mixer.  The other woman, in fact, gave the old thing a rather firm smack.

Then Heather noticed the tears gathering in Petunia’s eyes and her stupidly empathetic nature reared its head.  While Petunia was far from Heather’s favorite person and really didn’t feel like family most days, Petunia _was_ a woman in a difficult situation. Yes, Heather knew that the situation was largely of Petunia’s own making, and that the woman herself was most likely never going to change, but that didn’t mean that Heather did not feel a fair bit of sympathy for her.

Marriage was sometimes tough work.  While Before-her’s marriage had been very, very different from Petunia and Vernon’s situation- and, Heather liked to think, much, much happier overall- that didn’t mean that Heather couldn’t understand Petunia’s current state of distress.  The firm absence of any Evans family members- along with the fact the twins hadn’t been summarily foisted off to someone else long ago- led Heather to believe that the Dursleys was all the family Petunia had left.

And when viewed under the lens of recent events that was just…….tragic, really. 

Petunia might not be a _good_ person, but she was still a person.

‘ _Dammit_.’  She thought somewhat sourly as she hopped off the stepstool she had been standing on before she firmly took Petunia by the arm and sat her down at the table, despite Petunia’s- feeble- protests.  It only took a minute for Heather to put the tea kettle on and once that was done she snapped up a few pieces of wouldn’t-be-missed morsels, plated them, and set them down in front of the very unhappy Petunia.

Heather was a little concerned when she set the tea service down on the table, as Petunia had said nothing since Heather had manhandled her away from her cooking.  The woman was just staring blankly at the table, hands clasped in her lap, listing slightly forward in her chair.

The young Potter stopped just short of Petunia, something from Before tugging at her mind. 

‘Panic attacks aren’t always rocking back and forth and crying!’  She remembered in a rush after a long moment of contemplation.  Heather eyed her aunt’s form critically, debating her options.

“Why don’t you go rest for a bit, Auntie.”  Heather’s voice was gentle, though her heart twisted unpleasantly at the hollow-eyed look her aunt gave her.  Heather tried on her best smile.  “The egg timer is set, and I can finish up the potatoes without needing to be watched.” Heather glanced over at the time-yellowed timer and squinted.  “That’ll give you about a half an hour to lay down and Uncle Vernon won’t be back for at least another hour after that!”

“I can’t-“  Petunia began, sounding utterly exhausted and Heather winced a little.  “Dudley-“

“You can.”  Heather told her firmly, ignoring the tea and everything else as she took her aunt by the arm and gently bullied her towards the stairs.  “Now, up you go, Auntie!  I’ll come gee you when the timer goes off!”  Seeing her aunt straighten a little- most likely in preparation for a fight- Heather quickly added, “And I’ll make sure Dudley gets his whole snack if he comes home before then.”

Petunia gave her a long, considering stare, but eventually she nodded and took ahold of the railing.  “You’ll come get me when the timer goes off?”

“Yes.”  Heather affirmed.

“And you’ll see to it that Duddy gets his snack if he comes home before then?”  Petunia persisted even a s she began to climb the stairs.

“I promise.”  Heather confirmed with a kind smile.  “Go rest for a bit, Auntie.  You’ll feel better.”

Petunia nodded absently and quickly ascended the stairs, disappearing from Heather’s sight fairly quickly.

“Is she alright?”  Harry asked from just behind her, once Petunia had disappeared from sight, and Heather nearly shrieked in alarm.

Heather whirled around and brought a curled fist up to her chest.  “ _Cheese and rice_ , Harry James!”  She whisper-screeched at her unrepentant brother.  “You scared the crap outta me!”

Harry gave her a mischievous grin- ‘ _Aw, he’s so cute! He’s gonna be such a heartbreaker!_ ’- and crossed his arms across his chest.  “I finished vacuuming a while ago, Heather-feather!”

Heather groaned.  The whole advanced class had done an English exercise last week, and Harry had been calling her that ever since.  She hoped it wouldn’t stick!

“Yeah, well, it’s not polite to try and give your twin grey hair, Har-bear!”  Heather informed her brother primly, darting forward to tweak his nose lightly before she spun on her heel and headed back towards the kitchen.  “Go ahead and eat the stuff on the plate before Dudley gets here- oh, and pour me some tea, ok?  Bring it over when you bring me the plate.”  Heather absently tossed over her shoulder as she went to check the oven, the timer, and took stock of what was yet to be done.  She dragged her stepstool over to the portion of the counter with the Kitchen-Aid mixer and began to read over the recipe that was open beside it.

“Not going to argue against free food.”  Harry half-garbled as he quickly gobbled down the small plate’s worth of food.  “But what are you doing?  And is Aunt Petunia going to be ok?  She looked really pale.”  There was the sound of clinking tableware and a soft curse before Harry’s voice came nearer to her.  “Like, almost as pale as Jeffery was last week before-

“Yes, yes.  I’ve heard enough speculation about Jeffery’s returned stomach contents, thank you very much.”  Heather cut in quickly.  “And she’ll be fine, Har-bear.  She just needs a little rest, is all.”

Harry came up beside Heather, just tall enough to set her tea on the edge of the countertop and using his fingertips scoot it away from the edge a little.  “I can’t reach the sink with all the potatoes in the way, Heather-feather.” He held up the dirty plate for her to see.

“Hm.”  Heather murmured as she absently took a small sip from her tea and then set it down further inland.  “There’s another stepstool just around the corner in the pantry.  Just set the plate here for now, go grab it, and then put the plate in the sink.”  She tossed a distracted smile down at her brother.  “And then you can help me save this cake recipe!”

Harry perked up, smart enough to understand that whatever secret Heather had been teasing him about earlier would be saved for the sanctity of their room, excited to learn something new.

By the time Harry had finished all of the tasks she had outlined and dragged his stepstool over towards her, Heather was reasonably certain she could save the cake.  It was chocolate, and baking had been her hobby Before.  Granted, she had baked in America, half a world away and at least a decade from the current time period, and the recipe in front of her was rather unfamiliar, but she was reasonably certain she could make it work.

“Ok, listen up Har-bear!”

**\---XXX---**

By the time the timer went off, Heather and Harry had gotten the cake in its pan, the built-in dishwasher was running, and they had finished the vegetables.

Petunia had been pleasantly surprised and slightly suspicious, and had gone so far as to test the cake batter, but eventually she had shooed them out of her kitchen.

Harry grinned with glee.  “She didn’t even suspect us!”  He exclaimed quietly.

Heather rolled her eyes at her brother, but she was grinning, too.  “We licked the beaters, before we washed them.  It’s not like we pulled off a bank robbery.”

“It’s all about the little things!”  Harry defended, using one of her favored not-yet-a-movie movie quotes against her.

Yeah, she was guilty of using a _lot_ of those.  Harry just picked them up from her using them or her stories, but it was nice to be able to speak freely and have him understand, even if he was the only one.  And their speech patterns made them a little odd to their peers, but it wasn’t as if they were exactly average there either, so Heather wasn’t particularly worried.

Heather made sure the door was firmly shut behind them and turned on the little radio that had been added to Dudley’s broken toy pile sometime over the past weekend.  Harry raised an eyebrow at her, when she beckoned him over towards the window after turning on the fan but she really didn’t want anyone else to overhear them.

“Ok, so.”  Heather said, once they were seated across from each other, cross-legged in a patch of late afternoon sunlight.  “Remember that trip Aunt Petunia and I took?”

Harry’s eyes lit up and he nodded eagerly.  “Are you gonna tell me what it was really about, now?”

“I’m getting there, Har-bear!”  Heather outright laughed at her brother’s constipated expression.  Apparently his face couldn’t decide what look to make and it just got stuck somewhere in no man’s land. 

**\---XXX---**

Harry honestly felt sorry for Dudley sometimes.  Not _too_ often, and definitely not when the older boy was being what Heather called ‘a menace’, but often enough.

Dudley seemed to have it all, really.  Two wealthy parents who doted on him, all the gadgets money could buy, and most of the other kids wanted to be around him badly enough that he could pick and choose any friend he wanted.

But….

Harry had Heather.

Dudley sometimes got to hear a story or two- which Harry grumbled about, but Heather just teased him about being jealous, so he tried to not do it too much- but the other boy didn’t have Heather, the Sister.

When Harry cried, it was Heather who made him smile again.  When Harry was bored, Heather found them something fun to do.  When Harry couldn’t sleep, Heather broke out the good stories, the ones she didn’t share with anyone but him.  When Heather was ‘over and done with human interaction for the day’, it was Harry who she snuggled up against to drown the world out.  When Harry had a question, Heather answered it without making him feel stupid. 

And when Harry asked a question Heather didn’t have an answer to, she helped him find it.  She showed him how to use the decimal-card things at the Library, how to ask for help from a librarian or a teacher, and, maybe the most important part of all, Heather taught him how to have the _courage_ to ask for help from a librarian or a teacher.  

Even if it was something silly like, ‘why is grass green?’, back before they were able to leave the house without Aunt Petunia, Heather found a way to get books for what he wanted to know.   That question, in particular, had turned into an adventure of learning what science was and it had been tough work to figure out how to get to the information, given what she had called ‘limited resources’.  Heather had made plans, and done most of the work, in breaking into the attic to filch books from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon’s school days, and then the twins would stay up late, reading by the light of a flashlight under the blankets.  They even stuffed clothes under the crack at the bottom of the bedroom door so the Dursleys wouldn’t see the light and come investigate!  The venture was made more difficult because they had needed to look up about every other word in the humongous Webster’s Dictionary they had acquired from Uncle Vernon’s office. 

But, despite all the headaches and sneakiness and late nights, Heather had found a way for Harry to find out why grass was green.  Heather never, not once, scolded him for wanting to know something, she just hummed and said things like, ‘well, we’re gonna have to use that big brain of yours to think our way around it’, or ‘well, _this_ should be fun’.

Both were phrases she used right before they enacted the plan to sneak into Vernon’s office. 

Speaking of which, while Heather was rather selective about rules she followed, sometimes.  Though, she _did_ make an extra effort to point out that if the Dursleys weren’t such jerks, the twins could just _ask_ for the things they were forced to be ‘flexible’ about acquiring.

 _“Rules that are made by informed people for our own safety- like when a doctor tells you to keep a cut bandaged, or someone who works at beach tells you not to go in the water because of sharks or the tide-_ those are rules you follow _.  Because their whole purpose is to keep you safe.”  Heather shoved a hand through her messy hair and pointedly glared at the door to Uncle Vernon’s office.  “Then there are rules about a person’s personal space and stuff, those are also important, because to get respect, you have to give some.”  Heather grimaced.  It looked weird on her usually smiling face.  “Not always, but some people are just_ jerks _.”  She waved a hand around impatiently and carefully opened the drawer to the hall chest, making a happy noise as she fished out Uncle Vernon’s office key.  “And then there are the rules that exist to control you.  Those are basically just…..loose guidelines, really.”  Heather shrugged, carefully tiptoed over to the door, and quietly inserted the key.  “I mean, don’t be_ stupid _, but well behaved women rarely make history, kiddo.”_

Harry appreciated the fact that Heather, who was way smarter than he was, never told him anything like ‘I’ll tell you when you’re older’ or ‘because I said so’ or ‘it just is’ or ‘it’s always been that way’.  She might not give him all the details, but she never lied to him.  She didn’t ever use that really irritating, ’I ’m-better-than-you voice’, a lot of adults used either. 

Even when Harry asked her why she sometimes seemed more adult-like than Petunia, Heather didn’t lie.

 _“I feel like I’ve lived a whole life before this one, sometimes.”  Heather told him, her voice sounding tired in a way that made Harry upset, even if it was dark and he couldn’t see her expression.  Heather sighed and poked him in the side.  “It’s not always a bad thing, kiddo.  And it helps me be the most_ awesome _sister ever, so there’s that.  Go to sleep, Har-bear, we’ve got reading to do in the morning before breakfast with Banshee.”_

Harry felt that there might be a whole lot more to it than that, but he could accept it.   Heather hadn’t said he was being crazy and for him to stop being silly, like anyone else would have, and Harry really, really appreciated that.

A lot of people looked down on little kids asking questions, even Dudley’s parents did a lot of the time. But, even though Heather had told him that Santa Claus wasn’t real, though she did tell him a story about a guy named Saint Nicholas; and that sometimes bad things happened to good people, but you had to make the best of a bad situation; Harry somehow respected his sister- who was a kid like him!- more than anyone else.

Mr. Pritchard was pretty cool for an adult, but Heather was still Harry’s favorite.

So when Heather told Harry that magic was real and they would be going to a magical school like their parents had when they turned eleven, Harry believed her.

He had lots and lots of questions, a lot of which Heather couldn’t answer because she honestly didn’t know the answer or how to get to one, but that was okay.  They had figured out grass, they’d figure out this magic thing, too!

Harry still pouted a little when Heather laughed at him for the comment, though.  He was being serious!

Still, Heather laughing at him was nothing like Dudley- or worse, Vernon- laughing at him, so it was okay.  He laughed at her whenever she tripped over junk on the floor, or at least Heather said it was junk; Harry was pretty sure she just tripped over the floor itself, so he guessed turnabout was fair play.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Harry had taken the news about magic fairly well, and Petunia had signed the tennis club sheet fairly easily. 

There wasn’t any stopping her now!  Soon, she’d rule the world!

 _‘Insert ominous clouds and creepy storm brewing in the background here.’_   She thought, amused, as she and Harry readied themselves for bed.

She’d quote Comedy Central, Bender, but he was an acquired taste.

Petunia had also decreed, as ‘payment’ for signing the papers and not informing uncle dearest, that the twins would now be responsible for their own hygiene _and_ laundry.

It amused Heather greatly how Petunia thought she’d be upset about such a thing.

Oh no, basic household responsibility! 

 _However_ would she _cope_?!                    

For some reason, her mind decided that _I Will Survive_ was the perfect background music for her current mood.

On the sports club front, Petunia had merely sniffed disapprovingly, informed her rather loftily of her new ‘duties’, signed the thing, and then lectured Heather about not expecting anything- from extra money to Petunia or Vernon attending any of the games- before the woman fairly _bounced_ off towards the living room and the blaring seven o’clock news.

Given that Petunia was a decent master of passive-aggressive power trips, Heather fully expected to not be able to use the Ariel detergent that the Dursley family made use of. Petunia was perfectly willing- and able- to buy a much cheaper detergent just to spite the twins.  Given Heather had seen her in a ‘moment of weakness’, they likely would have to make use of ‘new’ non-Dursley bath towels, not to mention super cheap soap and shampoo and conditioner, depending on how badly Petunia wanted to prove that she was ‘in charge’.

No matter how much she empathized or learned about Petunia, Heather _never_ forgot that the woman from the story locked _Heather’s baby_ in a _motherfucking cupboard_.  Even with the smidge of familial affection she felt for the woman, sometimes when Heather went to the cupboard to fetch something, she couldn’t help but pause for a moment and imagine.  Imagine _her baby_ , alone and hungry, locked inside the dingy little room that smelled of bleach, dust and off-brand cleaner.

It always made Heather stop and check herself.  Because while she didn’t know when or why Harry ended up in that situation in the story from Before; as surely as she _lived_ and _breathed_ , such a thing would _never_ happen on _her watch_.

And if that meant Heather had to spend their entire childhood essentially running careful diplomatic relations with a hostile foreign power, then, by the Almighty Himself, she _would_.

Also, the ability to shower whenever she wanted and do her own laundry far, far outweighed those minor inconveniences.  And Heather could actually get grass stains out of clothes- the number one reason Dudley’s clothes were retired, actually- so there was that little bit of petty revenge, waiting patiently for her to make use of it.

Heather hadn’t really been surprised by Petunia’s obvious dismissal and high-handedness, despite Heather’s intervention that afternoon.  Toxic people were generally particularly good at blocking out anything that did not perfectly align with their view of reality.  Petunia, in particular, was quite paranoid about being displaced as the ‘queen of the house’, but Heather refused to stoop to ignoring someone in obvious distress in order to spite Petunia Dursley.

And if that meant Petunia continued to treat the twins in her usual, dismissive, insensitive manner even after Heather gently steered her into taking a much-needed nap and saved dinner, then so be it.

When toxic people lost control of a person or situation they tended to try to control how the rest of the world perceived the person or situation.  Hence the passive-aggressive power trips and the vicious, patently untrue rumors that Petunia liked to spread about the twins.

Heather _had_ needed to calm Harry down a bit. Her baby was _so_ cute when he got all offended about Petunia’s behavior!

Truthfully, it had been far more difficult to explain the intricacies of standing one’s moral ground in the face of deliberately ungrateful people like the Dursleys to her baby than it was to explain magic, how with great power comes great responsibility, _and_ the need for secrecy!

Heather had tried to phrase the magic reveal in such a way that magic seemed less like ‘unlimited power, mwahahahahaha!’ and more like, ‘a additional skill available to us’.

Because that’s how Heather felt about magic.  It was amazing and could defy what seemed possible in way that would take technology decades to replicate, but magic- at least to Heather- _had_ to have an upper limit. 

Deeming something ‘unbreakable’ was all well and good, and if one charmed a door and then rammed it with a tree and a hundred men, then maybe it was ‘unbreakable’.  However, would that same door hold up to the force of lorry crashing into it?

Magic was amazing and truly unique, and Heather was terribly excited to explore it.   But Heather had lived long enough to know that no power was absolute.  It could be truly formidable and damn near impossible to overcome, but not entirely untouchable. 

If there _was_ an end-all, be-all spell or ritual or something, Earth would more than likely have a Supreme Overlord by now.  So the Theory of Relativity had to still be in play, somehow. 

To a certain extent, at least.

Equivalent exchange, and all that.  Perhaps a bit circumspect with reality-warping energy at her fingertips, but still not entirely abandoned.  Science had taught her that energy could not be created or destroyed, and she was moderately certain that would be true for magic as well.

She had not specifically attempted to manipulate her magic, but ever since that incident with Marge, Heather had always been peripherally aware of the new energy she now possessed.  Her initial assessment had been a little off the mark, from what she could tell.  The feelings she associated with her magic _did_ seem to run all along her body, but it was- well, late at night, when she was indulging in her introverted tendencies, she would turn her attention inwards and attempt to observe the flow.

The energy was somewhat bubbly, like a babbling brook running over stones.  In some areas, the energy seemed thin, alcohol-like in its consistency.  Heather assumed it would be easily spent- much like alcohol quickly evaporates if left in the open air- but, correctly harnessed, powerful despite its rather harmless appearance.  The opposing side of the energy- which Heather equated to being the base- was more opaque, thicker and hardier and much more prevalent, but perhaps not quite as potent. 

It was very Naruto-esque, chakra-like theory when she thought about it like that, but-eh, what can ya do?

It felt like two energies that were inherently interwoven.  There wasn’t just the two energies, either, there were hints of other…’flavors’ to it, that nearly seamlessly mixed with the two-part ‘base’ and made the whole idea of trying to isolate every single little nuance, ludicrous.

The older she got, the less sensitive she seemed to get to its presence.  She could still feel it, but it took a little effort and the minute details slithered out of her metaphoric grasp far easier than before.

She had, at least, been mostly correct in her theory that magicals sort of unconsciously directed their magic into things they loved.

Fortunately, older electronics, especially ones made to be tougher- such as Harry’s beloved Speak ‘N Spell- were far hardier than the newer generations of electronics.  Mindlessly mundane tasks really didn’t seem to get the same treatment as an engaging activity, but as she had been intentionally focusing to see if it was happening might have changed, it was difficult to be sure.

One of her projects at Hogwarts was going to be making a rubber anti-static band that either shielded her hands or redirected the flow of her magic.  She might be totally stealing someone else’s ideas, but she wanted cell phones, computers, and magic-Google!   And she was willing to work for it!

Heather might be happy with her brother and doing her best to take everything day-by-day, but her family and her cats weren’t the only things she missed from Before!

Of course, knowing Runes were used in magic and trying to puzzle out the technical details of such a thing were two very different things.  So no pre-Hogwarts Rune schemes for the twins, unless Heather somehow, impossibly, managed to crack the secrets to an entire branch of magic before then.

Hm.  Maybe she and Harry should look into learning an alternate language?  It might help later on down the line, and they were in _Europe_.  Europe had a ridiculous amount of languages that were native to it, in Heather’s humble opinion.

She had also heard something about children who were at least bi-lingual fared better at problem-solving, and she was keenly interested in Wards, Runes, and how it all fit together.  She might not believe magic to be the end-all, be-all power of the universe, but that didn’t mean she thought it was anything less than incredible and capable of truly phenomenal things.  Heather simply wanted to keep a level head about things; everything in moderation, and all that.

Eh, she’d talk to Mr. Pritchard about languages later.

Once she had forgiven him for this tennis club thing, that is.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather had been enjoying her glasses-free existence, but Coach Rachel had noticed her vision issues about ten minutes into their first tennis practice, which had been the Wednesday after they’d been sent home with the forms.

Stupid tennis courts and their stupid lines.

At least Harry got dragged down with her.

While the National Health Service covered the cost of the frames and lenses, the Dursleys had needed to pay out-of-pocket for the eye exams, something that they had bragged and bitched about, depending on the audience.

To the neighbors, they bragged, and duly accepted the neighbors’ sympathetic pities. To the twins, the Dursleys tended to bitch.

Vernon had only attempted to growl at them to dumb themselves down and fail out of the advanced course _once,_ though.  The night they came home from the eye doctor, actually.  In response to the irate man’s idiotic bellowing, Heather had unleashed a verbal lashing of her own that had caused even _Petunia_ to blanch. 

Once she had sent Harry on up to their room and coldly glared Dudley into minding his own business. 

Vernon hadn’t taken the spirited reprimand lying down, but Heather had been an adult once upon a time and she was an empathetic person by nature.  Empathy was a blessing and a curse, as being able to put oneself into someone else’s shoes also gleaned their perceived weak points.  Heather utterly despised using the information against someone, as she wouldn’t want such a tactic turned against her, but Harry was her _baby_.  Her brother.  And no bumbling oaf with inadequacy issues was going to harm _her baby_ on _her watch_.

Petunia had gone worryingly pale the longer Heather and Vernon argued, but eventually the older woman had helped Vernon and Heather to come to an accord.  No one was particularly happy with the agreement- least of all the two Dursleys- but when Heather decided that something was worth pulling out all of her dirtiest tactics, she went _all the way_.

Now, on her way to pick up her new glasses with Harry walking quietly beside her, Heather brooded.

Continued to brood.  Whatever.  The fight had been two days ago and she had been in a strange, post-tantrum funk ever since.

Harry was worried, and more than a little angry at the Dursleys, but Heather truly loathed acting like a heartless jerk and it had put her in a foul mood. 

Words were permanent, she had always been taught, and Heather had always prided herself, Before, on not being someone who spouted hateful nonsense in the heat of the moment.  Granted, she hadn’t _always_ kept firm control over her tongue, as her sarcasm sometimes ran away with her when she was ranting, but had always she tried to not fall to the level of dehumanizing the people she didn’t like or was upset with.  Like, if she was upset with a person’s actions, she tried to confine her displeasure to what, specifically, had made her angry instead of tearing down the _person_ who had committed the offense.

She’d much rather meet people halfway or simply avoid conflict altogether, but some things were truly worth fighting for; and no matter how _wretched_ she felt about some of the things she had said to Vernon, she _refused_ to apologize! 

It would set an unpleasant precedent, let alone a terrible example for Harry.  And if she recanted now, then Vernon and Petunia would believe that they could walk all over the twins and that _just wasn’t going to happen_.  She and Harry might be children and dependent on the Dursleys for food and shelter, but they owed the Dursleys _nothing_.  The twins were not animals; they were small human beings and deserved to be treated as such! 

Heather _wouldn’t_ allow Harry to feel beholden to these people simply because they fed and sheltered the two of them. Petunia might have some legitimate abandonment issues, but they were _children_.  While Heather was thankful for what they had, she also knew damn good and well that in this day and age- and with such an affluent lifestyle as the Dursleys led- that the idiots’ treatment of her and Harry was _wrong_.  And Heather _refused_ for her smart, talented, brilliant baby to feel tethered to such toxic individuals.

There was a bit of hope for Dudley.  They’d play it by ear with that one.  But the elders had firmly sealed their fate as Holiday Card Acquaintances.

So no matter how awful she felt, or how much Petunia and Vernon attempted to guilt-trip her with sad sighs and frustrated frowns and little barbed comments, she utterly _refused_ to bow to their silent demands.  Even if she, personally, felt somehow dirtied for having stooped to such a flagrantly filthy tactic.

Beside her, Harry snuck his tiny hand into hers and she tilted her head to side enough to smile reassuringly at him.  “Ready for the new headgear?”  She asked him, trying to inject a fraction of her usual cheer into her voice as she did so.

Harry grimaced.  “Sure.  Yeah.  It’s gonna be great.”

A laugh tore itself free of Heather before her gloomy internal monologue could stop it, and instantly she felt _so much better_.   “Well, they won’t be so bad!”  She informed him cheerfully, swinging their linked hands between them and making silly faces at her brother.  “At least you’ll be able to see without holding your books half a mile away.”

Harry pulled an exaggerated face at her phrasing and playfully glared at her, but he wisely forwent answering, as they had arrived.

**\---XXX---**

Heather wasn’t exactly thrilled with the thick plastic glasses that now took up most of her face, but at least they didn’t clash too terribly with her hair.

Of course, Harry’s new glasses were nearly the same as hers, with thick black frames that took up most of his face.

It was _so cute_. 

She needed to find a camera at some point, because little baby Harry with huge glasses needed to be immortalized.

While somewhat thankful that the frames were different colors, Heather wasn’t all that worried about grabbing the wrong pair of glasses.  She was farsighted, while Harry was nearsighted, so it wasn’t like wearing the wrong glasses wouldn’t be readily apparent.

Now to teach Harry the finer points on how to live with glasses.  Because Heather was certain they wouldn’t be getting new frames for a good, long while.

**\---XXX---**

The Little Whinging Sports Club was about a ten minute walk away from the twins’ school, and then it was about a twenty minute walk home.

All the tennis club had done the first three weeks, after the very first practice when Coach Rachel had actually let them smack some tennis balls around, was run. 

Laps- _so many_ bloody laps- suicide drills, stupid little courses that were trip hazards, and a somewhat fun little net wall thing.

So Heather had been painfully aware of each step it took to get back to Number Four.   And she cursed herself _every_ - _freaking_ - _day_ for letting Harry excitedly drag her to practice that first day because Coach Rachel was an _evil_ _mastermind_ and had _timed_ them.  So unless Mr. Pritchard gave them a note, the crazy woman expected them to be there _before_ four o’clock, as school let out at three-forty-five.

The Club itself was a rather lovely, moderately sized, split level complex that held both indoor and outdoor exercise areas.  A golf course ran off into the distance at the very back of the outdoor areas of the Club, and the indoor-housed areas of the complex created sort of a semi-circular, half-bowl that protected the open areas from unwanted visitors from the street.  The outdoor tennis courts edged the east side of the grounds while the soccer- football, whatever- fields flanked the western edge.

The open-aired entry way was a little loud for Heather’s tastes, as it was done in black and that flat tan brown undertones while all the accents were bright colors.

As in, neon.  Electric. 

 _Eye_ _searing_.

There was a large, circular desk directly in the center of the open area, immediately upon entering, and the two double-set, heavy doors leading into the rest of the ground level were protected by little PIN-pads.  There were stairs on each side of the entrance room that led to the upper portion of the Club.  Most of the upstairs rooms that Heather could see from the ground floor were mostly ceiling-to-floor glass, which allowed her to see the other patrons, in all of their swimming-suit-paired-with-stirruped-leggings-and-legwarmers glory.  In her personal opinion, most of the, privately termed, exercise exhibitionists were also a little too fond of sweatbands.

Most of the large, front room on the top floor was full of equipment, which included a lot of treadmills, stationary bicycles, and weight machines that looked sort of intimidating.  There were smaller rooms that had equipment that required PINs, but a lot of the side rooms were open areas that regularly cycled through exercise fads.  Currently there were several rooms set aside for the likes of step aerobics classes, the new craze of ‘Jazzercise’, and the group workouts to the likes of Richard Simmons.

Most of the ground floor indoor facilities were devoted to individual sports- such as tennis- but the crowning glory of the Club was the indoor/outdoor swimming pools.  Things like the sauna rooms and the three Jacuzzi tubs were also pretty amazing, but the swimming pools were what made the Club so different from the smaller, cheaper clubs in Surrey.

Heather and Harry had gotten fairly acquainted with the Club and its various facilities as, after the first week of practices; they usually ran errands for Mrs. Pritchard, the Manager, Maria, the Club secretary, or Shannon, the Head of Maintenance.  It was mostly fun busywork, running messages to patrons instead of the secretary needing to use the PA and single anyone out, or refilling the towel racks or helping tidy up loose golf balls or other similar, simple tasks.  And Heather would not have been _half_ as annoyed with the work if it wasn’t a half hour of running around after her legs had already died, been resurrected, and then killed off again during Coach Rachel’s hour-and-a-half long torture sessions.

Though they did get to smack a tennis ball around for the last half hour.  With borrowed rackets and constant admonishments to adjust their grip so that they were holding the blasted thing correctly.  Their- intended, at least- target was usually a marked spot on the wall, and Heather spent over half the time chasing down her wayward little yellow sphere of suffering, but at least it was a break from the drills and Coach ‘motivating’ them.

Sweet cheese and crackers, but Heather _hated_ running.

**\---XXX---**

One day, out of the blue, while the twins were doing their after-practice duties at the club, Harry had nearly caused Heather’s untimely demise.

Cause of death?  Laughter.

She had been refilling the towel rack in the main machine room, when Harry had sidled up to her and said, with a completely straight face.  “Second machine over from the door.”

Just as she turned to look, he whispered.  “ _Youth_.  Behold, the power of _Youth_!”

And, lo and behold, on the second machine over from the door, Heather spied a woman with a green swimsuit, black leggings, and _orange_ _legwarmers_.

She _did_ manage to stagger into the nearby supply closet _before_ she started laughing.

She certainly didn’t want to be rude to the lady, but damn, that had been funny!

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather had been correct in believing that Petunia would be petty enough to buy off brand detergent, used towels, and super cheap toiletries for the twins.

Whether it was purely just to spite them, Heather didn’t know.  She certainly hadn’t anticipated the amount of drama that came about from Petunia’s little stipulation.  Whether it had to do with the twins being placed in the Advanced Class, the club thing, or something that was happening behind closed doors that the twins were being used as a lightning rod for, HHHeather didn’t know.

But she _did_ know she didn’t appreciate the war zone Number Four became for most of the fall and winter.

The same day they went to pick up their glasses, upon their return to Number Four, the twins were given a small box of super cheap detergent, Daz, which was the knockoff brand of Ariel, the preferred Dursley detergent.  English detergent was a little strange to Heather because it mostly came in chunks, like the high efficiency stuff had Before. They were also given two bars of Irish Spring soap, the Dursleys all used Yardley of London soaps, as Proper British People; and some old towels, and washrags; both of which were blatantly obviously secondhand.  They were technically clean, but they were fuck ugly, torn in places, and really, really thin.

It was knock off stuff and the towels were the thickness equivalent of toilet paper, but it was fine.

There were sixteen chunks of detergent, according to the packaging, so Petunia had informed them she expected it to last as many weeks, smiling smugly the entire time.  Of course, the smug part might have been about the decree that if they used it all up before the sixteen weeks were over, she would make them wear their dirty clothes until she, graciously, decided to bestow upon them more detergent.

Heather was sort of paraphrasing there.  But the sentiment was pretty much the same.

At any rate, Heather was not an idiot.  Baking soda was also super cheap and Dudley was an overindulged moron.  Baking soda could be used to clean teeth- they were allowed to keep their shared toothbrush, but received no toothpaste- if one was careful, could be used as laundry detergent, and had several other uses.

 _Boom_. 

Next problem.

She _really_ shouldn’t have thought that.  The universe took it as a challenge.

For the next salvo for the conflict, Petunia decreed that the twins could only shower in the evenings, while the Dursleys were watching the telly and relaxing.

The twins didn’t even get back to Number Four until around six-thirty in the evenings, but-

Ok, fine, whatever. 

The twins started taking their showers earlier and blinked sleepily over their homework.  The twins, as mentioned, did not get back to Number Four until about six thirty, at which point they scarfed down their cold dinner at the kitchen island, and moved immediately on to their nightly chore, the dishes.  All the dishes the house had accumulated throughout the day. 

Heather would have had them do their homework during their dinner, but on just day two of the new routine, Petunia added a caveat that they couldn’t use the shower after Dudley went to ‘bed’.

Which was to say, after his parents sent him upstairs to watch the telly in his room when the seven o’clock news came on.

Escalation, stage left.

After Heather fell asleep and forgot to put their laundry in the dryer a few days later, Petunia gleefully decreed that she wouldn’t have the twins ‘holding up the wash’ or ‘running up the water bill’, so then they were only allowed to use the laundry on Tuesdays.

Petunia had also thrown the clothes in a basket, still wet, so they dried all moldy smelling and gross.

It should be mentioned that _both_ twins wore Dudley’s hand-me-downs.  So while six sets of clothes seemed generous enough, it only took them three days to exhaust them.  And Petunia only bought Heather underwear twice a year, and just a four-pack of them at all.  Nowadays, the twins did also have a pair of shorts and a shirt, each, to wear to practice.  But practice was _five_ days a week for the twins!

They were young enough to not really need deodorant, but after three days and a weekend to marinade in their own juices, their clothes would be impossibly stinky.  And Heather could ignore or rationalize many things, but the thought of having to wear dirty, stinky clothes to practice actually had made her cry.  In the sanctity of their room or in the shower, of course.

Until she cried out all of the hurt, and only spite and determination remained.

Well, Heather could strategize.  Though needing to plot like a Bond villain just so she could have _clean fucking clothes_ made her so angry she couldn’t see straight.

Oh, wait, no, those were more angry tears.  She needed to quit randomly breaking out into angry tears whenever she stopped to think about the situation, or poor Harry was going to have a meltdown.  Her baby flailed and felt far too many strong emotions when she was truly upset.  It was cute and heartwarming, but they did _not_ need to add accidental magic to this already volatile mix.

But, yeah.  Plotting like a villain for the right to basic necessities.

In a mid-to-upper middle class neighborhood with rather cutting edge facilities. 

_In bloody England._

With much mortification and chagrin, Heather politely asked Shannon- who was a perky, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, recent university graduate and was always plying them with snacks- if she could use the machines at the Club.  Shannon had needed to ask Mrs. Pritchard, but the answer had been a resounding ‘yes!’.  As a matter of fact, after she received approval, Shannon would whisk away the twins’ school clothes when they changed for practice, so when they were finished with practice the twins’ clothes were washed, dried, and waiting for them.

After a few days, Heather noticed that their practice clothes, which they had shoved in their tiny lockers the night before, had also been laundered.  When she tried to ask the Coach or Shannon about it, the two women had ignored her or pointedly changed the subject. 

She and Harry started giving out hugs.  Both women were very huggy and they seemed to appreciate them.

Heather called it a win.  At life.

Except, not at Number Four.  Life at Number Four was not, in any way, _winning_.

In fact, Petunia had become so irritated with Heather’s blasé reaction, to these small, but pointed reminders that the twins _did not belong,_ the woman ramped it up a notch.

Or several.

The subsequent, ridiculous, unnecessary debacle was now referred to as the ‘ _Respect my author-i-tay~!_ ’ incidents, by the twins. 

Or, more correctly, any time someone tried to pull rank or age or something similar in nature n the twins, one would lean over and whisper to the other “ _Respect my_ a _uthor-i-tay~!”,_ and they would both lose it.

Heather had even made a ridiculous little doodle with the words written in a speech bubble and Harry somehow managed to get it above their bedroom door, slightly camouflaged by the construction paper monstrosity that was Heather’s attempt to make a map of Gaia.  This put the little doodle right above Petunia’s head when she came in to yell at the twins and it made Heather giggle _so much_.

The, er, _main_ debacle it had started off slowly enough. 

Petunia had, seeing her original plan to embarrass and humiliate the twins had failed after a few weeks of snooping and waiting, outright accused Heather of ‘stealing’.  She began to inspect the twins’ knapsack when they came home, looking for contraband.  Heather privately suspected  Petunia would have tried to raise fuss with the Club, but the patrons and staff were out of Petunia Dursley’s realm of influence, which really only encompassed about a city block or two.

It was a rather sad reality when put in proper context, but that block was essentially Petunia’s kingdom.  And during the times Petunia was feeling particularly spiteful and malicious, having to walk down the street under the weight of all those judgmental stares and disparaging whispers felt like the entire world was out to get the twins.

Kind of like being the weird, unwanted new kid in the high school lunch room, really.  And especially excruciating for an observant introvert like Heather.  Most days it was only the thought of her _baby_ having to go it alone on the Walk of Shame that gave her the courage to put on her best happy face and drudge through the Quagmire of Disapproval.

Anyways, contraband. 

Which was apparently, _everything_.  Up to and including homework some days, depending on Petunia’s mood.

Thankfully, Heather had already been a _little_ paranoid and she and Harry had a ritual of checking their pockets and such for any treats they might have bought, or snuck in, during the course of the day when they rounded the corner by Number Eight, where there was a trash bin near the corner in a little cement box.

So, Banshee found nothing.

 _‘And ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.’_  Heather thought sagely every time Petunia started to reach for feeble little reasons to penalize the twins.  Like a book borrowed for an assignment.  But _Heather_ knew that _Petunia_ knew that _Heather_ knew that the Dursleys did _not_ have the influence over Mr. Pritchard that they had over the headmaster.  So Petunia was aware that she could only push her authority so far before Heather started poking holes in Petunia’s favored view of reality. 

Heather figured the passive-aggressive power play would slowly peter out after that.  Just disappear off into the mists of Petunia’s other passive-aggressive campaigns against the twins.  Heather had assumed Petunia would get bored and go back to plotting against the neighbors, like the woman usually did.

Yet, that was not the end.  Not by a _long_ shot.

After a few weeks of finding no contraband, Petunia gathered up all the miscellaneous toiletry items- like Marge’s disgusting shampoo or the travel sized containers for Vernon’s short business trips- from everywhere and locked- literally, she had had Vernon install one- them inside the master bathroom.  Bear in mind that the master bathroom door was already locked, and Petunia _wore_ the key.  The toiletries left in the main bathroom were also locked away, behind another shiny new lock, courtesy of Vernon.

 _‘Nevertheless, she persisted.’_   Heather thought, bemused, as she retrieved the small box of baking soda from a little niche she had created underneath one of the decorative rocks in the backyard one morning.  The twins got home late enough that it was dark, and all Heather had to do was pretend to trip for a moment to hide the small box away, carefully wrapped up in a filched Ziploc bag.  When she took out the trash in the morning, she would grab it and then run it upstairs and hide it among the twins’ belongings, while Harry helped set the table. 

Petunia searched their room while they were gone, of course, but with a long history of Dudley’s broken junk being in there- and with Petunia and Vernon seeing the broken toys as some sort of mark of privilege, so the things just kept piling up- there were plenty of hiding spots.

Heather also stole small amounts of the liquid hand soap from the sink dispenser in the bathroom and put small amounts of water in it to hide that fact.  Partly to help prolong the life of their soap bar, but mostly to spite Petunia’s crusade against them.

There was a stalemate for a few weeks.

And then-

Then Petunia burned the roast and undercooked the Beef Wellington on a night when Vernon was having business guests over.

Incidentally, the visiting couple had been _horrendous_ people.  The twins, who had been in their room trying to drown out the noise of the complaining going on, both jumped in fright when the man began shouting at his wife, then Vernon, then Vernon and Petunia, and then his wife again.  Truthfully the woman had been whining loudly about positively _everything_ from the very moment they arrived in the hall, and the roast was simply the tipping point to an already sinking ship.

It had been a tense and distressing evening and the addition of Dudley’s wailing as background noise fried what was left of poor Heather’s nerves.

Heather and Harry had been extra helpful the next morning, as they had felt genuinely sorry for Petunia, but by the time they came home from the Club they found an unpleasant intensification.

Petunia bought the twins Lava soap. 

 _Lava_ _fucking_ _soap_.

Great stuff, just not for tender, sensitive little kid skin.  Petunia had gone so far as to squirrel away the remains of the decent soap they had been using from their room.   Heather had been keeping the toiletries, clean towels, and clean washrags, in a little bucket, so they wouldn’t lose them and could easily transport what they needed to the bathroom, something Petunia had capitalized on, unfortunately.

Petunia even went so far as to take away the bathroom _hand soap_!

Well, technically Petunia had gotten a soap dish for the bathroom sink.   Even though she had always said she hated bar soap for sinks and the liquid soap was _so much more civilized_ , and put one of the bars of Lava soap in there, handing them the other to the twins to wash with in the shower.

There were limits to what Heather could endure without snapping.  And having her skin constantly feel like she had a peeling-grade sunburn or hearing Harry whimper nearly every time he turned over in his sleep was dangerously near the limit.

Heather had, after a whole week of trying to grin and bear it, very politely, pointed out that the soap- Lava soap, who the _hell_ used that to _bathe_ with, anyways?- gave her a rash,  and Petunia had a slight breakdown. 

It was rather disturbing to watch, really.  Thankfully, Dudley was off at a ‘friends’ house, as he usually was until at least five, and Vernon was on a short business trip, hence why Heather decided to speak with Petunia that afternoon.  Heather had actually skipped practice to come home and reason with Petunia, and after the woman finished opening and then slamming what seemed to be every door in the kitchen and pantry, she slid down the front of the sink’s cabinet and started sobbing.

Heather took a deep, somewhat shaky breath and pushed down her own dangerously simmering feelings.  Acting on her pent up anger and aggression would not help anyone right now, _least_ of all Heather and Harry.

It wasn’t exactly a righteous reason to hold her tongue and try to meet Petunia halfway, but it was a compelling one. 

 _‘Ok, Heather.’_   She said to herself as she mentally tried to put herself in Petunia’s shoes _.  ‘Let go of yourself and find Petunia’s viewpoint.  What are you feeling right now?’_

Petunia had been having a bad week, even in addition to the previous week’s failed dinner.  Birch Lane’s, a carbon copy of Privet Drive than was opposite Number four’s backyard and just across the alleyway, Mrs. Number Seven had started a nasty rumor about Vernon sleeping with his secretary.  Granted, this rumor was revenge for the rumors _Petunia_ had started about Mrs. Number Seven’s daughter being pregnant out of wedlock.

Gossip was _so_ annoying. 

So Petunia had been summarily uninvited from the weekly happily-married ladies tea, and Mrs. Number Seven had gotten an invite to Widow Fenway’s house over on Magnolia Crescent, a distinct snub to Petunia, who had been vying for the older woman’s attentions for months.

Heather rather despised that she even knew that much, but Petunia liked to mutter in the mornings before her second cup of tea.

Vernon had a short overnight trip up in Leeds this week, just a two-day seminar thing, but his secretary had been required to attend as well.  It was a working seminar and had something to do for the next promotion Vernon was working towards, but it could easily be misconstrued, by both Petunia and the gossips.

Part of Heather felt genuinely sorry for Petunia- wondering if your partner is boning someone else was never a fun spiral of doom to encounter- but a large part of Heather also felt suspiciously neutral.  Petunia pulled this crap all the time, starting misleading or completely fake rumors, and life had a way of coming back around to bite a person in the ass.

You reap what you sow, and all that.

So while Heather felt compassion for Petunia, she did _not_ feel an overwhelming need to comfort the woman.  Not in a gloating sort of way, but just in a ‘what did you expect to happen, genius?’ sort of manner.

Knowing that patience was a virtue, and skin rashes were both irritating and painful especially when running laps, Heather weathered the storm. 

Once Petunia was finished, instead of wondering, rather loudly, about what the neighbors or Mr. Pritchard might think if she had rashes all over, she took a moment to eye her hollow-eyed aunt critically.

Petunia’s blue eyes were duller than usual and they were so puffy and irritated they were almost swollen shut.  Her face also seemed…hollower, as if Petunia, who was already nearly abnormally thin, had lost the little bit of fat she’d had.

For all that Heather firmly believe Petunia brought this on herself, the  eldest Potter twin also noticed just how fragile Petunia was at the moment, and how Heather held all the power in this conversation.

‘ _Dammit_.’  Heather thought sourly as she shoved her rather strong desire to see the petty, vindictive woman shatter under an onslaught of brutal truth down below her sense of empathy.  _‘I really hate having to be the adult when she keeps treating Harry and I like third-class citizens.’_

Not that her initial plan had been a bad one.  The red, irritated tone of her skin did stand out quite a bit on her pale complexion, so it wasn’t entirely unreasonable to think that others would notice.   And Mr. Pritchard wasn’t the kind of man to be bought, especially when the Headmaster had little to no control over the man, as a Ministry Of Education sponsored- and paid- teacher.

Heather sighed. 

 _With_ _feeling_.

But she didn’t do more than blink as she walked over, wetted a towel, wrung it out, folded it, and then passed it to Petunia, who accepted it meekly. 

Heather was utterly _exhausted_. 

Harry was mostly happy with their routine, which she was grateful for.  But to Heather, who needed me-time to recharge her introvert batteries, falling into exhausted sleep when her head hit the pillow was really starting to take its toll.  She loved Harry and she wanted to let him keep the remnants they could salvage from this being their _childhood_ as long as possible, which meant there was a fair bit of stress and frustrated scheming she was keeping to herself.  She wasn’t naïve enough to try to hide all, or even _half_ of what was happening, from her baby.  It would harm them both and their relationship, which Heather treasured.  But constantly having to pick apart the situation and explain it as objectively as possible, in order for him to understand that what was happening to them was _wrong_ ; when all she wanted to do was cry or the memories of before floated by and she remembered what _freedom_ was truly like- well…..

‘ _Suck it up, girl.’_ She told herself firmly as she wrestled her turbulent emotions under control.  She called up the tattered remnants of her will and prayed that this would go rather smoothly, for all of their sakes.  _‘Freedom gets closer every day.  And you have Harry to think about, too.   This is your life now, you have to fight for it!  Even when it seems hopeless.’_

“I can help stop the rumors.”  Heather finally said, more than a little miffed that she was using this situation to bargain for the right to essentially exist.  “But I want something in return.”

Petunia sniffled and tried to muster up a glare.

Heather was unimpressed.  She crossed her arms across her chest and leaned up against the ‘L’ of the counter.  “I’ll get Vernon to take you on a Holiday.  I’ll make him think it was his idea, and he can “surprise” you.”  Heather’s hands fluttered mockingly I tandem with the statement.  She hadn’t known she could pull that off.  “You can leave Dudley with Marge. So it would be just the two of you.”  Heather actually used finger quotes and her tone was flat, even to herself.  “You’ll get to spend the rest of the winter talking about it, then Christmas will happen, and then you can gush about it all throughout the first of next year.”  Heather shrugged and stared hard at Petunia.  “Where do you want me to suggest he take you?”

Petunia stared beadily at Heather for several, long heartbeats.  Then she wetted her lips, or tried to at least, and Heather got her a glass of water, which the woman accepted quietly.

“Barcelona.”  Petunia finally said, grudgingly and slightly apprehensive.  “Tell him to take me to Barcelona.”  A bit of Petunia’s inner fire seemed to come back as she fairly spat, “And what of you two, girl?  Marge won’t take you.” 

Petunia said the last bit haughtily, and Heather couldn’t help but snort sarcastically.  “As if I’d want to stay with that horrid woman.”  Heather smoothly continued, ignoring Petunia’s disgruntlement. “If nothing else, there’s that crazy cat lady over on Wisteria Walk who is always offering to babysit us.”

Heather was of the private opinion that Arabella Figg was anything but subtle, and the cats she kept were positively mangy.  And Heather was a cat person!  The woman was also considered the neighborhood crackpot, and had actually lived in the neighborhood longer than the Dursleys.  Actually, her late husband had been instrumental in the development of the neighbor, before his death back in nineteen-eighty. 

So, apparently, Mrs. Figg had just been a conveniently placed ‘old friend’ of the Headmaster rather than a strategic plant.

That still didn’t make the older lady any less weird.  Heather was also fairly certain the woman was a hoarder; it was just the sense she got from seeing the passerby’s view of the house’s windows.

Petunia nodded, slowly. Mrs. Figg frequently stopped Petunia to chat, as Petunia walked to the grocery store like most others in the neighborhood, and just as often offered to babysit the twins. 

Not Dudley, amusingly enough.  Even the crazy cat lady knew _he_ was a spoiled rotten brat.

“And what do you want in return for this…. _service_.”  Petunia nearly gritted out the last word, as if it personally offended her.

“Control.”  Heather replied simply.  “I want control of Harry and I’s budget.”  Heather gave Petunia a smile that was full of teeth.  “I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that you don’t want us here.  And only the headmaster of the gifted school’s cryptic, vague warning that the gifted terrorists might come after you keep us here.  Because of the Blood Wards your family is safe from your connection to Lily Potter.”

Petunia was silent, but her face seemed to show pain, disgust, shame, anger, and a host of other emotions that Heather didn’t feel like decoding.

Oh, she had also admitted she had read the letter hadn’t she?

Whoops. 

 _‘Sorry.  Not sorry.’_   Heather thought rather grouchily.

“And because we protect Dudley and Vernon, you tolerate us.”  Heather continued after letting the awkward, heavy moment hang between them for several seconds.  “And perhaps you feel a small bit of duty towards us as well, but the majority of the reason we are here is because you want to protect _them_.”

And damn if that didn’t sting a little.  Even though Heather had known…had always known.  She had thought that her and Petunia’s relationship had gotten a little better after meeting Connie, but Petunia seemed to have taken a sharp turn into loathing at some point, much to Heather’s abject confusion.

“So I want a reasonable, sustainable budget for our necessities.”  Heather held up a hand when Petunia tried to protest.  “We’ll keep wearing Dudley’s hand-me-downs, and providing food is, really, the least you can do for your _little sister’s children_.”  Heather paused to take a deep breath, trying to keep her mind clear.  “Especially since our existence is protecting _your_ family.”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she stubbornly kept her expression clear.  She had Harry and Harry had her.  And even if Petunia did feel a tiny bit of duty or affection towards the twins it would be unequivocally eclipsed by Petunia’s own sense of self-preservation and the inherently selfish desire to keep her life from being turned upside down.  Also, to see Dudley and Vernon safe.

Despite how much that made her angry.  And how much it actually _hurt_.  It wouldn’t do to falter now and make the twins’ situation _worse_.

“But I want a monthly budget of-“  Heather paused to do some mental calculations.

As a side note, Heather was fervently grateful that British currency had so many things in common with the American currency she had used Before.  Pence were basically pennies, with one hundred of the little bastards being one dollar.  Coins came in one, two, five, ten, twenty, and fifty pence.  One pound notes and two pound, ah, _notes_ were actually coins as well.  As far as paper money, it was fairly simple.  Five, ten, twenty, fifty pound notes. 

‘Pounds Sterling’ was sort of the official name that helped differentiate the currency from others with the same name, as far as Heather could tell, anyways.

“-shall we say, forty pounds a month?”  Heather finished, fully expecting Petunia to blanch and protest. 

Truthfully, Heather could likely make do with as little as ten or fifteen pounds a month.  Things were far cheaper in the present than they had been during her time Before, and Before-her had learned many cost-cutting tricks during her times as an adult.  But Heather was fully aware of the _fact_ that Dudley’s _weekly_ allowance was twenty pounds and, quite frankly, she didn’t feel like being overly accommodating to Petunia at the moment.

Not that it would be _difficult_ for the woman to give the twins forty pounds a month, but it was the principle of the matter.

Petunia merely nodded at her, lips pinched in displeasure.  “So long as you come through on your end of our bargain, girl.”

Suddenly, Heather had a thought.

 _‘I wouldn’t put it past Petunia to tell Dudley we had money or for her to ‘confiscate’ it from our room, no matter where I try to hide it.’_   Heather fought the urge to worry her lip as Petunia began to lever herself up. 

“And I want it in a Young Investor’s account.”  Heather said firmly, trying to calm her racing heart.  This confrontation was taxing what her strained nerves could handle.  “With Mr. Pritchard as the Undersigned.  With one of the local branches of the Royal Bank of Scotland.  We’ll call it a class project.  They have an Automatic Teller Machine terminal near the school.”

They had just learned about that, actually.  Banks, checking accounts, and the ‘new’ technology of ATMs.  The Undersigned was usually the child’s parent and the account was made to be a bit more gentle to financial _oopses_ of the young and stupid.  Heather wanted to _keep_ their hard-won money and independence, not to give Petunia a direct line to it!

Petunia eyed her in extreme displeasure.

Heather rightly didn’t give a damn.

 _‘I don’t want to enable her, and I am very, very angry and frustrated and hurt, but I can’t just watch her sit there and cry.’_   Heather sighed quietly and prepared to shepherd her aunt upstairs for a nap, darting over to the egg timer and, after quick mental calculations, she set the timer for about ten minutes before Dudley would be home _.  ‘I am such an idiot.’_   Heather thought sourly to herself as she reached down to help her sniffly aunt up off the floor _. ‘I wish I could tell my stupid, bleeding heart to get over itself. It makes things so fucking_ complicated _.’_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Petunia knew she was being exceedingly soft about the girl’s demands, but she just couldn’t dredge up the energy to fight about it.

The girl didn’t believe the rumors.  Or was at least polite enough to pretend so.

And Petunia knew, like she knew her own name, that if Heather had wanted to, she could have unleashed hell on Petunia.  Given Petunia’s recent moods, she was in a rather delicate state, and Heather had both the perceptiveness and intelligence to see all of Petunia’s weakest points.

Yet, despite the fact that Heather gaining her own pound of flesh, for Petunia’s recent actions, would have been entirely justified-

-the girl; _Heather_ , hadn’t.

Heather, her little five-year-old niece who had bright red, angry skin peeking out from under the edges of her long sleeved shirt, had chosen to use the situation to the twins’ advantage.  And not even in a blackmail sort of manner, as Petunia most definitely would have, had their positions been reversed; but in a manner that preserved Petunia’s pride, would contribute to the continued peace of Petunia’s household, and was nearly laughably easy for Petunia make good on.

Heather most definitely had not been stupid, nor had she just let twins’ recent treatment go unpunished.  But she still had been far gentler and understanding than Petunia deserved.

Even in her wretched state, Petunia could admit- to herself- that she had been in the wrong.  That she had been taking out her anger and hurt on the two people in the world who, quite truthfully, deserved it least.

But-

Her eyes filled with tears, _again_ , and she meekly allowed Heather’s babble to wash over her while the young girl led her upstairs, towards her and Vernon’s bedroom.

 _Vernon_.

Petunia had seen the lipstick stains on the collar of Vernon’s shirts, though.  But she just….she just couldn’t bring herself to confront Vernon about it.  This had happened before, not long after they married, and Vernon had sworn up and down that they it was just a meaningless fling, a way for him to show an underling that he was in charge. 

_“You’re my wife, Petunia.”  He told with startling intensity, his eyes filling with tears.  “I love you.  She was just a trollop.  A momentary bit of fancy.  I could never replace you.  You’re the woman I brag about and take to dinners and have pictures of in my office.  I’ll have her transferred to a different department tomorrow, if it upsets you.  I just got a little carried away showing the upstart her place, is all.”_

And Petunia had wanted to believe that her husband; that her marriage, was perfect; and that every word Vernon had spoken was true.  He had _cried_ for her! 

Vernon was far too much of a respectable man to cry in front of a woman, but he had cried for _her_. 

Petunia Evans. 

The girl who had always been overlooked or forgotten.  The girl with the too long neck and the too narrow hips and unladylike, large feet.  The girl who had never found a niche for herself and had been abandoned by her own little sister.

So she decided that she would stay with him.  As his wife.  Because he had chosen _her_ , above all others, to be Mrs. Vernon Dursley.

Petunia had her pride, of course, and she had demanded that it would never happen again.  He had agreed. 

They laid the matter to rest and moved on.  They had _Dudley_!

But sometimes, lately, the little details didn’t add up.  Like lipstick on his collar or a wine stain on his handkerchief.  A woman’s perfume on his credit card that never made it to her.  Hotel rooms in the next town over.  Expensive meals for two, with a bottle of wine or a private room, on nights he had to ‘work late’.  Rubbers in his travel case, when they hadn’t used them in years.

Petunia was his _wife_! 

He came home to his perfectly ordered house and kissed her properly and nothing ever came of his dalliances.  She just needed to remind him that she was still a woman, from time to time.

And Heather was willful and persuasive enough to get Vernon to agree to a romantic getaway.

They would go, and Petunia would remind him how lucky he was to have her.  She would bring a stained handkerchief, and he would cry, and then they would make love like they used to, and he would forget about those…those trollops!   And Petunia would be more attentive and dutiful in the future, so they wouldn’t have to repeat this cycle ever again.

It was her fault, really. 

Vernon had wanted the twins put in their place after that verbal lashing Heather had given him, but Petunia had _known_ that Heather wouldn’t break.  That she wouldn’t take the pointed reminders the way Vernon thought she would.  That she would fight, even when she was tired or upset or feeling defeated.

Heather was so much like Lily it _hurt_ sometimes.

Petunia would not apologize to the twins, it just wasn’t proper.  But so long as Heather managed to cast the spark that would re-ignite Petunia’s marriage, Petunia could be gracious enough to allow the girl this rather inconsequential victory.

And Vernon would be _so pleased_ with her if she suggested opening a Student Account for Dudley!  Why, he might even get her those pearls she had been admiring……

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather _had_ managed to get Vernon to agree to ‘surprise’ Petunia with a romantic getaway to Barcelona, Spain, during the Easter break of the new year. 

She ambushed him the day he came home, as it had been a Saturday and only the twins had been home.

Harry, who had been in the room and more than a little amused by Heather’s acting, had supported the ‘auntie has been so stressed, we’re worried for her!’ card Heather had been playing up.  She had held her fake grin firmly in place and endured through several minutes’ worth of ranting about such a thing being the twins’ fault for existing, how much money they cost him, and then how terrible their parents had been.

But it had been a half hour well spent.

Tuesday, Petunia had them excused from practice and they went to the bank, Mr. Pritchard meeting them there.  

After a short conversation with Petunia, Monday afternoon, their teacher had been more than happy to sign for them. Though he did inform the twins that they would be doing some extra worksheets to better understand the new account, along with doing weekly reports that were worksheets that were essentially balancing a checkbook for dummies.

Given that they were all of five years old, Heather was just happy the older man had agreed to help them. 

The following Friday, Petunia had left their new debit card and the paperwork regarding their new account on their bed.  Come to find out, Petunia had deposited two hundred pounds into the account to activate it, and there were orders for the bank to automatically move forty pounds from Petunia’s personal ‘mad money’ account to theirs on the first of every month.

Unfortunately the twins were far too busy during the week to go shopping, so Heather had firmly planned to go first thing in the morning on Saturday.  There was a big Tesco up in Guildford, which was just a short train ride away, and Heather would rather not shop at Little Whinging’s smaller stores.  Partly because she didn’t want Vernon’s boot-lickers to note their purchases, and partly just out of spite.

Just because.

Vernon also had a golfing lunch planned for Saturday, and Heather didn’t want to imagine what would happen if the man saw the twins coming home with shopping bags full of necessities.

Given that he was their sponsor, Heather had spun Mr. Pritchard a story about Petunia wanting to teach them responsibility to justify their pressing need for toiletries, towels, and washrags.  Petunia had actually _thrown out_ the twins’ old toiletries so they had still been using _Lava fucking soap_ during the transition period.  And no matter how much lotion Shannon forced onto them, their skin was irritated, itchy, and uncomfortable.  They didn’t _need_ new towels or washrags, but sometimes it was all about the little things and they had had a hard fight to get this far.

Mr. Pritchard was a very smart man, didn’t believe a word of it, and sent his wife with them to Tesco. 

Mrs. Pritchard’s decidedly dyed dark brown hair usually had enough AquaNet hairspray in it to survive a Class 3 hurricane and a surprise downpour.  Her bangs were done in that split, poufy eighties style that seemed to give her a half inch of height, too.  Her preferred pantsuits were all had stripes and her earrings were rather loud.

Despite her questionable fashion choices, her brown eyes were warm with grandmotherly concern as she fussed over the twins.  She had arranged Friday afternoon to meet them at the train station on Saturday, and she had kept them entertained the entire way to Guildford,

“You both may call me Anna dears.”  She fretted as she concernedly patted at their hair, straightened up their hand-me-down jackets, and ushered them into the warmth past the store’s entrance.  “Nana Anna, if you feel comfortable enough.”  She clapped her bejeweled hands together excitedly and grabbed a cart.  “And now, on to the important parts!”

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Schoolwork, independent whims to investigate, dodging the Dursleys as much as possible, and tor- _tennis_ practices, not to mention their work at the Club and their extra work for Mr. Pritchard kept the twins dizzyingly busy. 

Before they knew it Christmas Break was upon them, but not quite before Heather really almost made a mess.

She had been especially tired one day in class and Mr. Pritchard had called on her.  Only half-awake, she nearly started to answer the question, only to pause as something important niggled at the back of her mind.

It took a moment, but it came to her.  And she nearly cursed her inattentiveness.

Mr. Pritchard had asked her about the Berlin Wall and she’d nearly named the date it came down!  Considering that that date was still several years in the future, _that_ would have likely raised many questions.  Thankfully she had checked her response in time to stutter out a half-answer that was much less incriminating. 

It _had_ led to her perusing more history books than usual for a while.  Or at least those with rough timelines.  From what she could tell, the Statute had prevented any major events from being significantly different, but she would need to be aware and not slip into her Before-knowledge just because she was bored.

Harry was still adorably excited about being in the advanced class, despite Dudley’s constant campaign to remind the twins about all of his free time. 

The youngest Dursley was persistently, particularly grating when the twins came home, bone tired, from practice and still had to clean up from the Dursleys’ dinner _and_ do their homework.  Dudley seemed to delight in coming in and putting his empty bowl in the sink just as Heather, who washed while Harry rinsed, was getting ready to pull the plug.  Now, the twins washed the dishes by hand, but then they had to put them in the dishwasher. 

Dear ol’ Aunt Petunia liked to unload the dishwasher in the mornings.  Mostly because the kitchen window gave had excellent view to use to spy on their neighbors in the early hours of the morning, but she didn’t want to ‘risk the old thing getting clogged’.

Petunia had, about halfway through November during the height of the ‘ _author-i-tay’_ debacle, and after Dudley had taken a whole box of machine detergent and poured it down the toilet for some unknown reason; put the machine soap in a locked little case, much to Heather’s annoyance.  Heather suspected the lock was mostly just so the twins would have to come and find Petunia to start the dishwasher as opposed to Dudley raiding it again.  And, of course, their nightly chore wasn’t done _until_ the dishwasher was started.

Go frickin’ figure.

So, pretty much every night ever, Heather would wash Dudley’s bowl, the final dirty dish, and go get Petunia to start the dishwasher.  Just about the time the woman would make her unhurried way into the kitchen, Dudley would demand a fresh bowl of ice cream.

Usually, at that point, Petunia would launch into a dressing-down about the twins ‘dirtying up extra dishes’ by washing Dudley’s bowl when he ‘clearly wasn’t done with it’.  Sometimes Vernon would add commentary from his spot on the couch in the Living Room, and Dudley occasionally broke out into crocodile tears, but the end result was a good fifteen or twenty minutes of drama, when all the twins wanted was to wash up, and do their homework so they might have a few moments to relax before they fell into a fairly exhausted sleep.

It was petty and annoying and generally pointless, but it was just a little added irritation that irked Heather a bit more every day.

“Someday.”  Heather moaned into the pillow one night after the twins had finished their shower, homework already done, and we’re finally able to get to bed.  “On, like, the last day we ever have to be in this house, I’m going to load that stupid dishwasher with the dirtiest plates I can find, fill it with Fairy dish soap, turn it on, and walk away.  Like a hero walking away from an explosion in an action movie.”  Heather mimed an explosion and then used her fingers to mimic her walking away like a badass.

“Didn’t you say that Fairy soap would, and I quote, ‘fill the kitchen and half the hallway with a crapload of bubbles and water’?”  Harry asked, his voice muffled and sleepy, though he was still wriggle around, most likely trying to get the fan to finish drying him.  “And that if I ever put Fairy dish soap in the dishwasher you’d strangle me?”

It was probably mean to make the kid shower every night, Dudley only took about one a week and it was a protracted battle for that to happen, but Heather had wanted to instill good hygiene habits into her baby, early.

Showers and baths were your friend, and all that.

“Yep!”  Heather said as cheerfully as she could manage, but she was already half asleep.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

The Tuesday before Christmas- it would be the fifth Marge Holiday visit for the Potter twins- Petunia sent the twins back up to their room when they came down for breakfast.

“Sit and wait quietly, I don’t want Vernon to know I’m keeping you home.”  She had snapped.  “And, no girl, you can’t eat just yet, and you may only have a sip of water.”

Heather had been highly annoyed with the situation, but Petunia had seemed especially stressed.  So, Heather wrangled the sulking Harry back up to their room and kept him entertained until the two males had left.  Unusually, Vernon took Dudley to school.  Petunia usually walked Dudley to the crossing just short of the school and waved him off from there, so Heather was honestly confused as to what was happening.

Christmas was on a Thursday, so they still had three days left of it before Break.  She had even double checked the handout just be sure!

Not ten minutes after Dudley and Vernon had left, Petunia came into the twins’ room, a manila folder in hand.  “In the letters she sent after our meeting, that Representative woman mentioned that …gifted children need different shots.” Petunia said to Heather, seeming to ignore Harry altogether.  “The letter said that gifted can get the same shots as normal-“  Petunia emphasized the word, as if she was trying to stress that she still felt that the twins were an imposition and abnormal.  “-people, but that …immunizations that are for …gifted-only work better if they are given before you go off to…that school.”

Petunia’s concern and derision was confusing and headache-inducing.  Not for the first time, Heather mentally wished the blasted woman would just _pick a side_ already.  This lukewarm, half-hearted tolerate-despise game was getting _old_.

“Apparently, those freaks don’t even bother to do things _properly_.”  Petunia sniffed disdainfully, nervously fingering the folder.  “I will give you two the….potions-“  The word was bitten out through clenched teeth.  “-to drink and then you will need to eat a good meal and drink plenty of juice before taking the sleep….drink.”  By now Petunia’s hands were nervously creasing the formerly neat, flat folder.  “You both will feel rather poorly for a few days, but nothing that should keep you here.”  Petunia’s eyes suddenly flashed and she took an aggressive half-step forward.  “Now don’t you two get any ideas!”  She informed them tartly.  “That woman said that give you these accursed things will increase your chances of not getting sick with any….unnatural diseases while under my roof!”  Petunia shrugged dismissively before she nodded sharply, her fingers finally ceasing to worry the folder in her grasp as she handed it over to Heather.  “Read that and then come downstairs.”

Petunia left the room so quickly Heather distantly wondered if she had teleported.

“What just happened?”  Harry asked, swiveling big, green eyes onto Heather’s shocked-to-stillness form. 

It took a second for all of Heather’s brain functions to come back online, but eventually she shook off her overwhelming confusion; and also her chagrin.   She had actually forgotten to look for Connie’s follow-up letters, as the twins had been so busy; which had been a rather irresponsible thing for her to do!

Opening the folder, Heather found a simply outlined page full of bullet points on the top.  “First and foremost,” She read aloud to the curious Harry, who had shuffled up onto his knees behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder.  “You must know that gifted medicine and normal medicine are similar, yet different.”  Heather’s brows furrowed as she sped-read the rest of the page, quickly doing the same to the next few. 

Harry continued to crane over her shoulder, enough so that his wild hair blocked her vision and she batted him away.

“Ok.”  She said as she relaxed back onto their ‘new’ Flintstones bedspread, well, it was a whole sheet set thing, really.  Dudley had recently decided that he wanted a Godzilla theme for his room, even though he had just gotten the Flintstone set in October.  The awful mismatched set the twins had been using for the past few years had finally gotten too thin to count as more than rags, which is what Heather had cut them up to be.

Heather had then blatantly stolen the Flintstones set out of the laundry cupboard. 

So far, so good.

“From what I can tell, most normal basic medicines will work fine for us, just maybe not as well as they would work for someone like Dudley.”  Heather glanced over and smiled at her brother.  “But major things, like anesthetics for surgeries, _really_ don’t react well with magic.  Mostly because our magic thinks that something is trying to poison us and it does its best to purge it.”  Heather scanned a few more sentences a second time, just to clarify a few more points.  “There are a whole bunch of normal diseases we’re pretty much immune from, but there are also some magical diseases.  The magical sicknesses affect both our body and our magic, but even if we catch something like that, it would manifest as something like a cold to the Dursleys.”  Heather quirked an eyebrow at Harry.  “So, we might break out into purple spots and deer antlers and randomly give off bursts of magic, but Dudley would get a case of the sniffles.” 

Harry giggled, slapping his hands over his mouth to try and hide them, but it was too late.

“Yeah.  Pretty much.” Heather drawled, amused.    

She glanced over a few more pages before she shoved the still-giggling Harry off the bed and herded him towards the door.

“Come on, Har-bear.  Let’s get this over with.”

‘ _This_.’  Heather thought as she swallowed down another concoction that had come in a fancy, wax-sealed, glass phial.  _‘Sucks so, so much.’_

**\---XXX---**

“Ugh.” Heather groaned as she slowly trudged back upstairs towards the twins’ rooms.

It had been three days since they had taken their magical inoculations- or whatever they were officially called- and Heather was decidedly less than impressed.

Heather had found out that Connie had given the disgusting medicine directly to Petunia, the Intermediary having come to the grocery store to meet Petunia in person for the exchange.  That information had made Heather feel a bit safer, as had the information that Petunia had paid for the damn things.  Being actual medicine, dispensed by the authority of an ICW agent meant that Petunia now held the official paperwork that cited the brewer, batch number, and a host of other things that just made the things feel less like an illicit side-alley drug deal.

Official or not, Heather did not appreciate the bone-deep weariness that was just now beginning to dissipate. 

Petunia, wonder of wonders, had actually called them in for the rest of the week, they felt so terrible.  Heather had only left the twins’ room today because Mr. Pritchard had come by to drop off the twins’ Christmas Hol homework on his lunch break, and Petunia was off shopping.

The knowledge that Marge Dursley would be flouncing into their lives come Saturday did _not_ make Heather feel any better.

At all.

 _‘Bite my shiny metal ass.’_  She grouched as she dropped the homework off on the battered, scratched up cheap desk inside the twins’ room and crawled back under the covers with Harry.

Thankfully, today they were finally done fevering and could cuddle. 

She _really_ hoped the smell of sick and sweat would eventually come out of the sheets.  Poor Harry had had a few accidents during the past few days and Heather had needed to raid the laundry cupboard for extra linens, despite Mrs. Pritchard having found them two decent, but thrifty sets.

Naturally Petunia’s graciousness did not extend to helping clean up after the twins while they were sick. 

**\---XXX---**

 “Are you two _sure_ you’re feeling all better?”  Mrs. Pritchard fretted as she smoothed back Harry’s hair and squinted down at him.

Mrs. Pritchard’s glasses were, as usual, on the chain around her neck.  Much to Heather’s amusement.

Of course, Harry’s flustered appearance as he flailed under the concern was also very amusing.  A little sad, too, but Heather resolutely ignored that part.

After spending the weekend with Marge Dursley stomping around the house, the twins were more than ready to get out for a while.  Thankfully, Petunia at least was an ally in twins’ ongoing campaign to avoid Marge, so she had easily accepted the line Heather fed her about needing to go to Club. 

Despite the snow already laying thick over Little Whinging and the projected forecast of more snow.  And ice.

“We’re much better, Mrs. Pritchard.”  Heather said with a smile, finally taking pity on her brother and diverting the woman’s attention.  “But we’d _really_ rather hang out here today than go back to Number Four.  Surely there’s _something_ we can do to help?”

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Anna Pritchard was incredibly fond of the Potter twins.

When Maurice had first informed her that the twins he was sending her and Rachel’s way lived under Petunia Durley’s roof, she had thought he’d finally gone mad from all of his years of teaching tetchy teenagers.  But even though they came from the house of the Devil Herself, the Potter twins were two of the sweetest, politest, kindest kids she had ever met.

It was quite obvious to Anna that the twins were not only intelligent for their young ages, they were also incredibly perceptive.

Especially little Heather.

For one, Heather never referred to Number Four, Privet Drive as ‘home’. 

 _Never_.

When Anna had asked her about it, Heather had blinked owlishly up at her and said, in the most patient tone Anna had ever heard.  “Home is where the _heart_ is, Mrs. Pritchard.”  Then she’d turned a smiled at her brother, who had been helping one of the staff carry towels up to the upper floor.  “And my heart is with Harry.  Not the _stupid_ Dursleys.”

And, truly, that had revealed to Anna more than enough information for her to understand the battle lines in the Dursley household.

She had been in full agreement to Maurice being the guardian for their little checking account, especially as Shannon had weaseled a fair few more details about the twins’ situation from Harry.  While not one to spread gossip or tell tales or anything like that, Harry was incredibly proud of Heather and loved to talk about her. How Heather taught him to read; or how Heather had helped him figure out why grass was green; how Heather had explained that the soap situation wasn’t really about the soap, and in his excited, passionate babbling he let things slip that alarmed Shannon, who had informed Anna, Rachel, and Maria.

The women had tried to help as best as they could, but before they had needed to resort to drastic measures- all their reports to law enforcement seemed to get lost in the system, which infuriated Anna to no end- Heather had somehow wrangled a monthly allowance and a bank account from her aunt.

Harry had cheerfully told Shannon some details on that one, and Anna had been quietly impressed by Heather’s restraint.  Anna didn’t think that _she_ , as a child, would have handled a situation like that with _half_ as much poise and dignity, not to mention pragmatism.  And to broker such a beneficial deal with the woman who had been making her life hell for the past few months, too!

Anna was proud of the little girl!  Such maturity and yet she was such a happy little thing, always giggling with little Harry and smiling at the patrons.  She simply couldn’t imagine why the Dursleys couldn’t see how extraordinary the Potter twins were, and how any number of families would be inordinately proud to call them their own.

Well, Anna _could_ , but trying to understand folk who thought their excrement didn’t stink was an exercise in futility.

So when the twins dragged themselves into the Club the first Monday of the winter break, still looking more than a little under the weather, but grimly determined to not return to Number Four, Anna couldn’t help but intervene.  As if the universe itself was in agreement, but the time the afternoon rolled around the storm had intensified to the point that Anna had a perfect excuse.

“ _Hello_?”  The voice on the other end of the line was unpleasant as ever, and Anna steeled herself for an argument.

“Yes, Mrs. Dursley?’  She asked in her most professional tone.

A short pause.  “ _This is she_.”

“Yes, hello!  This is Anna Pritchard from the Club-“  Anna smoothly continued over the woman’s sudden screeches of disclaiming the twins and whatever fictional offense they had committed.  “-and as the storm had kicked up quite the fuss, I was wondering if it would be alright if the twins stayed over with me and my husband tonight?  I realize this might seem an odd thing to request, but my husband and I live just over on Hawthorne Thoroughfare, just across the street and over three houses and I would hate for you to have to get out in this weather to come pick them up, when we live practically next door.”

“ _Well, I wouldn’t want them to impose-_ “ 

The other woman kept rattling off insincere platitudes for a few minutes, but Anna kept insisting that it was fine, and that, _yes_ , she and Maurice would love to host the twins for the night, and, _no_ , the twins hadn’t done anything wrong.

It was a tedious bit of mind-numbingly, overly-pleasant, ‘ _oh, I couldn’t possibly’_ , but eventually the rigmarole was over and done with and Anna emerged the victor.

“Oh, thank you so much!”  Anna said pleasantly, rolling her eyes at the patently amused Maria, who had come in halfway through the conversation and had been listening on in delight.  “No, really.  Maurice and I are getting on in years and now I’ll be able to finish putting up all my holiday decorations!”

Once the goodbye pleasantries had been exchanged, Anna ended the call and scowled down at her phone.  “That woman is…is so….” She spluttered a little and trailed off into uncomplimentary mumbles, causing Maria to laugh.

Maria smiled wryly.  “I _know_.  My eldest nephew is in the same class as that beastly offspring of hers and Kenna, my sister-in-law, has had to have several conversations with the administration about the Dursley boy’s behavior.”  Maria set some files down on her boss’s desk and sighed as she took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk.  “Unfortunately, the Headmaster’s brother works for the father at Grunnings- was recently made the man’s Assistant, actually- and for all that the man is as unpleasant as his wife, the upper management of Grunnings seems to think he shites gold.  So the Headmaster won’t do anything to curb the boy’s behavior so long as he can bury the evidence.”

Anna shook her head in disgust as she perused the neatly typed documents, occasionally signing one or making a correction so that Maria could redo it.  “Terrible business.”  She closed the folder and handed it back to Maria with a smile.  “Well, I’ll be keeping them as long as possible, and hopefully this will open up the way for them to spend more nights with us.”  She sighed sadly.  “The house is a little less empty with Rachel and Kris staying with us for the moment, but those kids are just so sweet.  I wish I could do more.”

“Every little bit helps, Boss-lady.”  Maria consoled her boss and friend softly.  “They’ll be calling you ‘Nana Anna’ soon enough.”

“You think so?’  Anna perked up instantly, sprouting like a sunflower sensing sun.

“I know so.”  Maria replied dryly, a mix of amusement and resignation in her voice.

Anna had enough self-respect to wait for Maria to pull the door closed behind her to do a little happy dance in her chair.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Hawthorne Thoroughfare was about as high society as Little Whinging got.  There were only four houses per block, and each house was done in older, more traditionally English styles.

Number Three was where the Pritchards lived.

It was three stories, and had wide columns in the front.  The minute details of the outside was difficult to make out with all the snow and it being nearly dark, but the inside was warm and inviting.

There was a roaring fireplace built into a tan stone wall, and the rest of the home was done in red, crème, and holly green.

“Oh!”  A woman, her light brown hair pulled up in a messy bun, came skidding into the entryway from further inside the house.  Her eyes were a warm brown- like Mrs. Pritchard’s eyes were, just a shade or two lighter- behind her thin glasses and she had clearly not been expecting company.

“I love your pjs!”  Heather blurted out before she could stop herself.  “The Fox and The Hound is my favorite!  We watched it last week, because Mr. Pritchard said the class deserved a treat for working so hard.”

 _‘I hate my tongue.’_   Heather groaned inwardly as she tried to drown herself in her coat.  ‘ _Stupid carried over anxiety issues_.’

A warm hand reached down and ruffled Heather’s hair, causing her to peek up over the edge of her safety blanket.  “Rach said you were pretty snarky, glad to see she wasn’t fibbing!”  The woman grinned down at Heather.  “So, you’re Heather, right?”  Then she turned towards Harry, who was stuck in his coat.

“Here, let me help you, dear.  Harry, right?”  She asked as she moved over towards him.  “My name is Kristiana, but you can call me Kris!”

“Are you Coach Rachel’s spouse, then?”  Harry asked her curiously once she had extracted him from his coat.

Time stopped.

Well, it felt like time stopped to Heather.  All she could see was Harry’s innocently interested expression, Kris’ stricken face, and hear Mrs. Pritchard’s soft, worried gasp.

Coach Rachel _had_ talked about her ‘spouse Kris’ or ‘better half, Kris’.  And Mr. Pritchard had said ‘daughter-in-law’, hadn’t he? 

Heather wanted to say something, _anything_ , to prevent her brother from potentially saying something offensive or insensitive on accident. 

Because Vernon and Petunia Dursley had very, very loud opinions on what they saw as ‘perversion’ and Heather knew little pitchers had big ears and she was suddenly _terrified_ of what her baby might say out of obliviousness or confusion-

But she couldn’t move.  Couldn’t get her heavy tongue to work. 

Somewhere, as if the sound was coming from a thousand miles underwater, she heard Kris softly, but firmly, affirm that, _yes_ , she was Coach Rachel’s spouse.

And-

“Oh.  Neat!”  Harry said with a bright grin.  “Heather told me a story once about a princess who was locked in a tower with a dragon.  Only, she didn’t like boys she liked girls, and all these stupid knights kept coming to “rescue her”-“  Harry dutifully made air quotes. “-and the dragon would eat them, because they were _stupid_ and wouldn’t take no for an answer.  And then one day a knight came, but he didn’t want her as a trophy, he wanted her to meet his sister.  So the princess thought about it, and they rode the dragon to meet his sister, and they fell in love and moved into the princess’ tower and collected books from all over and when the princess died her wife turned it into the first library ever.*”

Time unfroze. 

Air whooshed into Heather’s lungs again and she nearly stumbled in her relief.

When had she told him that story?  It had to have been forever ago!  How many of her stories did Harry remember?  Wha-

Kris’ face broke out into the widest, brightest grin Heather had seen in a long time.  Her eyes were misty but she reached forwards and swept Harry up into a hug, twirling him around a few times, before setting him back on his feet and kissing his cheek.  “That.”  She said, her grin stretching so widely Heather felt it should hurt.  “Was a brilliant story!  _The best_!”

Heather suddenly found herself at the center of a hug of her own, as Mrs. Pritchard wrapped her up in a much more sedate, but no less warm, hug.

“It was a wonderful story.”  Mrs. Pritchard agreed, her voice a little wobbly and her eyes a little wet.  “Where did you hear of it, dear?  If it was a book, I would dearly love to buy it.”

Before Heather could panic, Harry laughed and said, “Heather’s _always_ had the best stories!  I think she might have been born with them!”  He paused and looked over at the pair by the door, his expression pensive.  “But maybe she just remembers them?  Our parents died when we were little, but Heather’s got a good memory for stories.  Maybe they told them to us?”

Heather just shrugged, slightly embarrassed but _so damn proud_ of her baby she felt like she might explode.  “It’s just….always been there, waiting to be told.”

‘There’ technically being Tumblr and ‘waiting to be told’ being one of her favorite fan author’s blogs, but, hey.

Politifact would _hate_ to rate her statements.  She’d break their charts.

“Well, I would love to hear more of them!”  Kris gushed as they were ushered deeper into the house.

“Kris went to university for languages.”  Mrs. Pritchard told them as the kids were urged to sit at a square-ish floating island thingy in the middle of a kitchen about the same size as the kitchen, living room, and dining room of Number Four.

It was made out of super dark, shiny wood and looked kind of like a tree.  The tall legged, cushioned chairs were surprisingly comfy, too!

“I graduated two years ago with a degree in linguistics, and finished up my second degree in June, when I finished my art program!”  Kris informed them cheerfully as she brought over a round tray of sliced cheeses, cut up summer sausages, a few different fresh veggies, crackers, a cheese ball, and some dip.

Suddenly, Heather was _starving_.

“Lin-gui-stics.”  Harry sounded out, cocking his head to the side like a puppy.  “Does that have to do with language?  Like, how we talk?”

“Well done, Harry!”  Kris exclaimed, sitting down catty-cornered from them and clapping her hands excitedly.  She also bounced a little in her seat. 

Heather could _definitely_ see bouncy Kris getting along with serious Coach Rachel.  They were probably _adorable_ together!

“I like to study different languages, but I also wanted to be an artist.”  Kris explained as she helped herself to some treats and encouraged the twins to dig in as well.  “So I did both!”  She sighed a little less enthusiastically and added.  “Most of the work I get is translation work, but someday I’d like to work with kids who have speech problems and have my art in a posh, upper scale gallery!”

Mrs. Pritchard, who was puttering around the shiny, cheerful kitchen, spoke up. “Don’t let her modesty fool you, kids!  Kris has already had a few buyers for some of her art pieces!  Why, before she even graduated The Earl of Shrewsbury’s buyers bought one of her exhibition pieces!”

“ _Mother_!”  Kris wailed, her face going bright red. 

It was both cute and funny, as even Kris’ nose went bright red.  Next to her pale complexion, though not quite as pale as Heather’s own, and with her dark hair, her flushed skin was quite apparent.

“Congratulations!”  Harry cheered, spewing crumbs everywhere as his mouth had been full.

Heather sighed, poked him in the side, and tried to wipe up the mess.

“Thank you, Harry dear.  We’re very proud of her.”  Mrs. Pritchard laughed, coming over with a washrag and gently batting Heather’s hands away from where she was trying to clean up after her unrepentant, but now slightly shy brother.  “But next time perhaps we could swallow our food before we offer our congratulations, hm?” 

The reprimand was warm and Harry positively beamed at her. 

“Ok!”  He chirped cheerfully before diving back into the food.

**\---XXX---**

Despite the awkwardness at the very first, spending time at the Pritchard was like a luxury vacation to the twins.  It was far bigger, much more open, and just somehow inherently _warmer_ than the rather hollow house the Dursleys called home.

That first night the twins had helped start Christmas dinner, put up a few of the last decorations, and relaxed.  Heather ended up on the overstuffed, extremely comfortable couch, locked into quite the spirited discussion with Kris about languages.  Meanwhile Mrs. Pritchard and Harry were huddled over the island in the kitchen, supposedly making a gingerbread house. 

Heather and Kris found that there was far too much conspiratorial giggling going on, but neither were willing to lever themselves up and out of the grasp of the couch to investigate.

By the time Mr. Pritchard and Coach Rachel made it home, dinner was finished and on the table, and the twins kind of felt they had sort of always been there.

The cookies- biscuits, _whatever_ ; some words just took longer to transition for Heather- were an excellent bonus.

The next day the storm intensified, and the twins ended up sleeping over for most of the week.  At some point, Heather couldn’t remember precisely when, the twins finally capitulated and began to use ‘Nana Anna’, as Mrs. Pritchard had requested.  They had both been pleased but deeply embarrassed when she had burst into happy tears and nearly strangled them to death.

Heather wasn’t exactly sure _what_ Nana Anna had said to Petunia, but she really didn’t care.  The company was amazing- Mr. Pritchard had been graduated up to Gramps; while Coach Rachel stayed Coach Rachel, which she seemed inordinately pleased by when the twins had been talking about how weird it would be for Coach to be anything but _Coach_ \- the food was the best Heather had had since Before-her’s Granny had passed on, and there was something amazing about a roaring fire, a snowstorm, and watching movies.

On an entirely unrelated note, it was amusing as hell to watch Harry discover the first three _Star Wars_ for the very first time.  Nana Anna had also taped a new show imported from the US called the _Golden Girls_ , Gramps was an avid _Star Trek_ fan, Coach Rachel had taped a movie called _Chariots of Fire_ , and Kris ended up having to flip a coin to decide between _Excalibur_ and _Gregory’s Girl_.

The twins slept in the same guest bedroom, they had needed to assure their hosts that they preferred to share a bed, and they had been given some of coach Rachel’s old clothes to wear.

Truthfully, most of that week was spent in comfy pjs.  There was also tons of food, poking around with the fireplace, books, and movies.

It was a _wonderful_ way to round out the year.

**\---XXX---**

As a bonus, Nana Anna had wrangled being the twins’ hosts over Petunia and Vernon’s Spring Break getaway shortly after they returned from that first visit.

Truthfully, after that Christmas, the twins spent more time with the Pritchard family than they did with the Dursleys.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊――

“I assure you, Mrs. Dursley, that the Little Whinging Sports Club takes its sponsorship duties quite seriously.”  Coach Rachel was saying pleasantly, undeterred in the face of Petunia’s not-quite-gracious excuses.  “Harry and Heather are very attentive and cooperative, and so they were chosen to intern at the Club as well as participate in the Summer League.”  Coach Rachel smiled, but it was not really a nice one.  “Why, they are the youngest ones to be taken on this summer.  We are very excited to have them.”

Petunia smiled weakly, but Dudley chose that moment to start throwing a tantrum. Loudly and with much sobbing.

Coach Rachel’s overly pleasant smile ratcheted up a notch.

Petunia nodded.  Stiffly.  And reluctantly.

Very, very reluctantly.

Coach Rachel had ‘coincidentally’ cornered Petunia on the sidewalk directly in front of Number Four.  And had spoken in the same voice she used to cut across six full tennis courts and about thirty kids.

The neighbors were watching.  And the Little Whinging Sports Club was rather locally prestigious, a mostly invitation-only affair, a fact that Heather had only learned recently.

“Of course.”  Petunia managed to say, as Dudley grabbed ahold of her left arm and began kicking her leg as well as trying to jerk her arm out of its socket.  “Do you have a schedule?”

And that was how Harry and Heather ended up with a summer internship that _somehow_ managed to need them seven days a week, for most of the day, usually included nearly ridiculous amounts of food, and was a whole lot of fun.

And, darn it all, they spent most of their nights at the Pritchard home.  Because it was ‘closer’ and the twins ‘shouldn’t walk back to Number Four in the dark’.

On the plus side, Kris had dug some of her old university notes out of storage and Kris and Heather spent many evenings perusing a variety of Runic languages, while Nana Anna and Harry schemed in the kitchen, and Gramps and Coach Rachel sort of floated in and out.  Gramps liked to read and watch television, while Coach Rachel was still applying for teaching positions and trying to figure out the Club’s various summer league events.

**\---XXX---**

Having been born in America in the Before, Heather hadn’t exactly been aware of how much of a luxury item a swimming pool was to the people of Little Whinging.  Even after all the months they had been working at the Club, Heather hadn’t really noticed.  It wasn’t until Dudley went to rub it in the twins’ faces that he and the other Dursleys- including Marge- were going to a real water park for his birthday week, that Heather realized just how big of a deal having a pool happened to be.

And the Club had an indoor/outdoor one, too!

Heather should have scolded Harry for telling Dudley that, and in such a nonchalant manner, but truthfully; she sort of enjoyed seeing Dudley throw a tantrum and demand another birthday trip after the water park because he suddenly felt slighted.

The twins were staying with the Pritchards for a whole week, which was going to be _amazing_.

 _And_ , Coach Rachel was going to teach them to swim, so they wouldn’t have to do laps every day!  They could alternate running days and swim days, which would be _beyond_ brilliant.

Heather was _so_ tired of laps.  And suicide drills.  And everything related to them.

Swimming was one of those things that being a kid made _awesome_.

Heather hadn’t really noticed at first, but even right after she ’woke up’ she hadn’t felt the urge to reach for her bra and the usual menstrual paranoia that had been a constant companion since about thirteen had mysteriously quieted as well.  Just as the longing or fond remembrance of all the crazy married sex she had had with her- still very dearly missed- husband. 

They were things she just…didn’t think about much.  And if she did, they felt weird, so she shelved them until such a time as they were needed. Or, at least, stopped feeling disturbing.

So, being a kid, and feeling entirely no sense of body modesty or Aunt Flo induced paranoia as she pulled on the one piece swimsuit Nana Anna had gifted her- and not taking no for an answer; that woman was _scary_ when she was determined- was liberating.

Heather skipped out of the shower rooms, grabbing a towel on her way by.

She had filled up the towel rack not ten minutes ago and it was already half empty.  What the hell?  Did these people use towels like Dudley ate candy bars?

“Hold up just a second, Red!”  Coach Rachel said with a laugh, corralling Heather and sitting her down on a bench.  “Let your old coach braid that hair of yours or it’ll get all tangled!”

“Is that why you made me wash my hair?”  Heather asked, amused.

“Naturally.”  Coach Rachel replied cheerfully as the woman quickly sectioned off her hair and began to weave it together.  “I couldn’t do anything with it if it was your usual rat’s nest!”

Heather chose to not defend her usual almost-bun, half-ponytail hairstyle.  When they stayed with the Pritchards, Nana Anna or Coach usually did her hair anyways, as her talents with her hair were extremely limited.

Hair art was not her thing. She was lucky it was wavy and could just dry naturally for important things, like school pictures.

Speaking of which, Heather wondered if Nana Anna would want some this year.  It seemed like the sort of thing she would go ga-ga over.  The twins would actually need to try and look presentable, then.  Heather hadn’t worried about them last year because she had figured- and been correct- about the Dursleys not wanting any.

“Would you teach me?”  Harry asked, walking over to the duo and peering over the front of Heather’s shoulder to watch his coach braid his sister’s hair.

Nearby, one of the men beer-bellied men lounging near the pool laughed nastily.  “That’s woman’s work, boy.”  One of the man’s friends sneered.

Harry flushed bright red, but before Heather could jump in, Coach Rachel did.

“It was a woman’s work that brought your ungrateful mug into this world, Reginald Lowey, and you’d do well to remember it!”  Coach Rachel snapped at the first man.  “And Harry wanting to learn to braid his sister’s hair makes him a better man than you, Gerald Frontenac!”

Across the room, near the far end of the pool, by one of the lap lanes, another man boomed out a good-natured laugh.  “Ha!  She sure put you in your places, lads!”  The man, who didn’t move from his spot in the water, smiled at the group.  “You go ahead and learn, lad.  You might have a daughter someday, and how sad would it be if her Da couldn’t help her with her hair?”

Harry smiled shyly at the man, but he straightened up and glared at the two who had tried to shame him.  “Heather’s my sister and I want to help.”  He told them firmly, though he did fidget a little. 

Heather felt a burst of affection for her brother and her Coach and the random man who had defended them.  The other men began talking loudly to each other and pointedly ignoring anyone who dared disagree with them.

“Hey.”  Heather said, wrapping her baby up in a hug, warm and full of feeling.  “Thanks.  I appreciate it!” 

Harry blushed and ducked his head, even as Coach Rachel hollered for them to get their bums in the water.

“I’m serious!”  Heather laughed as she dragged her brother towards the split cement stairs that would lead them out to their coach.  “I can’t even _try_ to braid my hair without putting it in a million knots, so I’d really appreciate the effort!”  She yelped as the cold water splashed around her thighs.

“I know.”  Harry half grumbled, as he cautiously glided into the water.  “I was there when you had to get the scissors to cut the knotted pieces out of your hair last year.”

“Shh!”  Heather laughed, dunking herself into the water to get the half-cold sensation over and done with.  “Don’t go ‘round telling my secrets!”

“What’s this I hear?”  Coach Rachel asked with a wide grin, as she snuck closer to the unsuspecting, still on the stairs Harry.  “Do my adorable students need to confess something to their beloved coach?”

Heather dunked back underwater and only resurfaced once Harry had been submerged by the obviously-laughing Coach Rachel.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

The twins were treated to an actual birthday party on the thirty-first of July, nineteen eighty six.

Their sixth birthday, incidentally. 

By the Pritchards, of course.

There was cake, water balloons, and presents.  All of which were things that the twins needed, like clothes they actually liked and a few things for tennis, like their own racquets.  With all the time spent at the Pritchard house and the Club- both of which always ‘mysteriously’ had things for them to conveniently use- they hardly used their own toiletries anymore, so they really hadn’t been spending any of their monthly allowance.   

They spent a few pounds here and there during day trips, but the adults that had all but adopted them were rather sharp eyed and things the twins intended on buying had a way of being purchased by one of the others before they got the chance.

Heather made sure to note the Pritchard’s birthdays at least.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

 **“** Heather, could I have a moment?”Kris asked, drawing Heather’s attention away from her and Harry’s tri-weekly game of ‘Flashcard Roulette’.   

‘Flashcard Roulette’ was a game Heather had ‘invented’, based on a jumbled mess of Before-memories.  She and Harry had made them themselves, out of notecards, markers, highlighters, and packing tape.

Heather really did enjoy having some disposable income.

Multiplication tables cards were pink, English cards were yellow, Geography cards were green, Vocabulary cards were orange, and everything else was white.  Heather would have liked a particular color for History, Science, Religious Studies as well, but the cards only came in four colors plus the plain white ones, so she tried to make do with colored markers to make the information color unique and, if she remembered correctly, easier to remember.

They made a game out of it.  There was the making of the cards and laboriously ensuring the information was correct- _“We don’t want to do all this work and memorize the wrong stuff, Har-bear!”_ -  and then there was the game.  They split the deck, like cards, three times a week, and whoever ended up with the most cards in the ‘correct’ pile, after all the incorrect ones were subtracted of course, got to pick a treat.

Heather, naturally, moderated her correct answers so that Harry had a fighting chance.  Though a lot of the information in History or Geography tripped her up, as she had learned American history the last go ‘round- Europe was across the Atlantic and over half the Continental US away, it hadn’t been a major point of interest to grade school Before-her- and the Geography of Eurasia was rather prone to change.  Religious Studies also followed the doctrine of the Church of England, and Christian doctrine in general had enough variations that it learning another denomination’s dogma was kind of like reading an alternate universe fiction for Before-her’s favorite books.

Similar and recognizable, but not a carbon copy.

So Heather had some definite advantages, but she still did have to put in a fair bit of effort.

But, the phrase ‘can I talk to you’ was just a half-step down from the ominous and nausea-inducing phrase, ‘we need to talk’.  There were enough terrible situation attached to both of those phases in her memories she had a real physiological reaction. 

Like her thoughts crashing like a stuck train, breaking out into a full-body sweat, and her old friend anxiety going from its usual background presence to full-on Void Lord.

“O-ok.”  She managed to squeak out, tossing down her cards and hopping up.

“It’s nothing bad!”  Kris reassured her with a nervous smile.

“Is it ready?”  Harry butted in eagerly, and it was only then that Heather realized that for once, Harry seemed to know what was going on and she did not.

She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that.

Once they made it to the living room, the rest of the Pritchard family had gathered as well.

And sitting on the coffee table was a neatly wrapped present.

Heather was very confused, but she and Harry sat down on the loveseat while Kris scurried over to sit beside Coach Rachel, the blonde wringing her hands together nervously.

“So, um,”  Kris began, pausing to take a deep, steadying breath after Coach Rachel slipped a arm around her waist.  “Do you remember the story Harry mentioned the first time you two came over?”

Heather furrowed her brows and tried to think bac.  ‘ _What stor-’_  “The one about Thomas the Wingman?”  She blurted out anxiously.

Kris laughed, and some of the tension left her posture.  “Yes!  That one!”  She exchanged a look with Coach Rachel before turning her earnest gaze back onto Heather.  “Well, I couldn’t get it out of my head, and I had Harr tell it to me a few more times, and then I just kept _thinking_ about it-“

“She wrote a children’s book about it and illustrated it herself.”  Coach Rachel broke in, her smile fond as she glanced at her nervous wife.  “And Krissy even found, kind of on accident, a publisher who was willing to not only publish this first book, but they also showed interest in a few others Kris is working on-“

“But they’re _your_ stories!”  Kris burst out passionately, beginning to wring her hands again, her body nearly vibrating with nervous energies.  “I tried to find source material for your stories, for _months_ , but I haven’t found any other published books that match them.”  Kris smiled tentatively at Heather.  “But I really think they could do a lot of good, but if you don’t want me to share them…..I won’t.”

Heather’s knee-jerk response was to blurt out that they weren’t her stories.  That they belonged to Before-her or Before-her’s fellow aspiring writers.

But…..

 _‘Is it stealing to introduce an idea earlier?’_   She wondered at she took a moment to consider Kris’ hopeful, but nervous expression.  _‘Is it fair for me to deny Kris, not only some income, but also the ability to maybe help out other confused kids who only hear stories about a dashing male knights and a female princesses, who just need a sign to know that they aren’t alone, and that there are other people out there like them.  I don’t want to steal.  But.  If they were writers in my world, wouldn’t they still be writers in this one?  Would having more diverse stories earlier just inspire them to write more?’_

Kris’ smile was becoming a bit dimmer, and she was worrying her bottom lip, even though it had only been a few seconds of expectant silence.

And Heather-

Heather couldn’t tell the woman ‘no’.  Not when she could see how much this project meant to Kris and Coach Rachel- and even Gramps and Nana Anna.

 _‘I hope, wherever you are my friends that you’ll forgive my inadvertent stealing.’_ She thought briefly before she smiled at Kris and melted into Harry’s side a little.  “It’s fine, Kris!”  She glanced down at the wrapped present.  “Is that one of the books?”

Kris all but exploded in happiness, wriggling around and keeping herself on the couch solely because Coach Rachel had her arm around her wife’s waist.  “Yes!  The first ever!”

Gramps reached forward and passed the book to Harry, who passed the book to Heather.  “Since the idea was yours, you two will get some of the profit-“

Heather held the wrapped gift and shook her head firmly.  “No.”  She held up a hand to forestall any complaints.  “They’re my stories, but…. I told them…….but, they’ve just always……. been there.”

Rate _that_ , Politifact.

“But I don’t really remember making them up on purpose- and Kris did most of the work.”  Heather shrugged somewhat self-consciously.  “Just, use the money you would have given me to help people like Coach, when she told her parents she wanted to marry Kris.”

The twins had been at the Pritchard house the night Coach Rachel’s brother had called to tell her their mum was really sick.  Nana Anna had quietly informed the twins that Coach hadn’t seen her mother since the summer before her first year of university, as her family hadn’t taken the news that she wasn’t particularly interested in men well.

And it wasn’t all Heather being benevolent or whatever.  She truly wouldn’t feel comfortable profiting from a story she hadn’t actually written.

‘ _I really hope my friends will forgive me.’_   She internally winced as Harry nudged her and she finally opened the present.

Kris’ art style favored bright colors and clean lines, and she had clearly put _weeks_ of hard work into making the book engaging.  Heather opened the book and was delighted to see that the book was arrayed with a page of words with the opposite page being art, a perfect combination for a wide range of ages.  And the art was truly pretty!

“You must have worked really hard on this, Kris!”  Heather chirped absently as she paged through the book, noting that it was a bit more about the princesses’ origins and how she ended up in the tower than the story Heather remembered Harry talking about.

“She did!” Nana Anna agreed warmly from off to Heather’s side.  “She was really worried you might be upset with her.”

“Mother!”  Kris squeaked out, embarrassed and pleased and still more than a bit nervous.

Heather finally glanced up from her perusal of the book- she thought that _hraap_ would be proud the book form of their original story, really- and smiled distractedly.  “Really, it’s fine.”

And then she turned her attention went back to the book.

Beside her, she could feel Harry laughing at her, so she poked him in the ribs on reflex.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

 “Harry, Heather, we need to have a talk.”

Heather’s forehead broke out into sweat.

Or at least, she thought it did.  Those words filled her with dread.

‘ _What the hell?!_ ’  She grumbled to herself.  _‘I just had this heart attack, like, a month ago!’_

Managing to keep her sudden spike of fear under control, she traded a confused look with Harry.  But when Gramps moved towards the classroom door, they both gamely followed him out into the hall and towards the headmaster’s office.

“You two aren’t in trouble.”  Gramps told them quietly as they made their way through the emptying halls.  “But your newest batch of assessment tests were exceptional.”  He flicked them a quick, proud smile.  “Normally, basic Primary education is from ages five to seven, or Years One through Three.  You two, however, are already doing Year Five work in most areas, and Year Four work in your two weakest subjects.”  Gramps pushed open the door to the office and smiled at the people inside.

Heather and Harry slunk inside the room and meekly took their indicated seats.  Both of them were highly displeased to see the Dursleys already waiting.  The Department of Education official was conversing quietly with the headmaster, but it seemed to be a tense exchange if their body language was anything to go by.

Gramps cleared his throat and all of the attention fell onto the twins.

“Hello, Harry, Heather.  I am Archie Tellander, from the Department for Education and Science.”  The jolly, ruddy faced man had a rather bland smile but his words were fairly enthusiastic.  “And due to your excellent assessment scores, we are going to change your schedule a bit.”

“There is a new _initiative_ , by the DtES.”  The headmaster said with barely-veiled contempt.  He was truly an ugly man, with a bad comb over, a scraggly beard, and a thick, trunk-like neck.  “Where _special_ _students_ will-“

“What your headmaster means to say.”  Archie broke in with a wide, fake smile, a muscle in his jaw twitching ominously.  “Is that while your scores are exceptional, you are still young students and we don’t want to overwhelm or discourage your growth.”  The man’s smile lost some of its edge at Heather’s, no doubt confused look.  “If we are to officially move you up to a higher Year level, there will be two extra classes, Citizenship and Languages.  And, just this year, Surrey Primary, largely due to the success of Mr. Pritchard’s _exceptional_ class-”

Ouch.  This guy really didn’t like the headmaster. 

Heather like Archie, she decided firmly, as the headmaster’s neck began to flush bright red.

“- will also be adding a class on computers.”  Archie finished.

And the bottom dropped out of Heather’s stomach.

_Oh no._

**\---XXX---**

Heather had completely forgotten about those old plastic-rubber keyboard cover things.  Given that the computers were also rather ancient compared to what Before-her remembered, she shouldn’t have been surprised as she was.  And, right now, the covers they were ‘new’ and part of the latest technology craze.

Heather wondered who had created them, though, because she could _feel_ her magic being lightly repelled by the keyboard covers.

Something to look into, she guessed.

At any rate she and Harry were just very, very relieved that using the computers for their schoolwork wouldn’t cause property damage and problems for Gramps.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

“I thought learning real tennis would suck less than running laps.”  Heather groaned as she fell, fully dressed, face down onto the twins’ guest bed in the Pritchard’s guest room.  “Turns out, I was wrong.  Horribly, tragically, _wrong_.”

Harry’s answer was a garbled groan and a few seconds later she felt the bed dip under his weight as well.

After nearly a full year of physical conditioning and hitting a tennis ball towards a spot on the wall for a half hour, five days a week, they had finally begun actual tennis practice.  They knew the rules, and about the lines, and how to keep score and all that as they had been running laps around the courts long enough to have acquired the information through repetition, in addition to the weekly pop quizzes that resulted in laps for _everyone_ for wrong answers.

This year they were learning to hit tennis balls across a regulation net to a partner.

It was _chaos_.

Stray balls from the courts, stray balls from the six-seven-eight year olds just learning, _chasing down_ all the aforementioned stray balls.

It was hell on Heather’s poor brain.  Too much sensory output, but Coach Rachel had moved her towards the end after the first practice had given her a screaming headache, so now it was tolerable, if not exactly fun.

And the twins were learning French.

To ‘help’, the Pritchards- who, _of fucking course_ , were all _fluent_ \- were speaking _solely_ in French at Number Three.  Since the twins were only a few months in, the adults did have a bit of pity and helped the twins struggle through untangling sentences, but they certainly made sure the twins did all the heavy mental lifting.

“Harry, Heather!”  Nana Anna called from the door, sounding far too amused for Heather’s temper.  “Come dears, I’ve run baths for you both, you’ll feel better after a good, long soak.”

Heather suddenly remembered why Nana Anna was one of her favorite people.  The woman knew an introvert- Gramps was worse than Heather, to be honest- when she saw one and thus Heather suddenly found herself with more ‘me’ time.  Nana tended to whisk Harry away to the kitchen, or they would watch movies- Harry was surprisingly fond of the _Golden Girls_ , which Nana taped every week- or they’d go visit Kris in her workshop. 

Also, the baths in Number Three were nearly sinfully luxurious and Heather wanted all of them.

 _All_ the baths!

With the tantalizing promise of a bubble filled, wonderfully warm bubble bath, Heather slowly staggered to her feet and began trudging towards her usual bathroom.

She did not, however, appreciate Nana Anna’s giggling.  Nor the lurking Kris’ outright laughter.

Eh, she’d get revenge later.

 _Priorities_.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

 “Hey, Heather-feather?”  Harry asked.

It was dark and they were back at Number Four for once.  The twins had laid down to go to sleep, but they were both wide awake for some unholy reason.  They’d had tennis practice that day, too, so it was very strange.  But they had been chatting off and on for at least an hour by now.

Heather absently wondered if the elder Dursleys had been fighting again.  In the past year or so the twins probably spent half the week, in nights, at Number Four.  And even when they came back to the Dursley home they mostly tried to stay out of the way.  Petunia rarely waited for them to get home to wash the dishes anymore, as there had been so many nights they had unexpectedly been invited to stay with the Pritchards.

“What’s up, Har-bear?”  Heather replied, wriggling around until she found her newest most comfortable spot.  Their comforter was still the old Flintstones one, but it was old and broken in now, and there was another thick, downy blanket on top of it to keep the plenty warm.

It was comfy.

Also, Heather had Harry.  Who was always cuddleable.

“Do you think other gifted can read minds?”  Harry queried softly, and she could feel him chewing on his lip from where she was curled like a cat under his chin.  “I mean, I don’t want anyone inside my head.  Not that I have anything to hide, but....it’s… _mine_!”

 _‘Yes they can, and I agree.’_   She thought sourly.  Annoyed to remember that bit of information.  She had just been going through her old, ridiculously childishly scrawled stories the other day, rewriting that particular tidbit about Snape.

Truthfully, Heather tried to not plan too far into the future.  Despite the Connie meeting, things in Little Whinging were spectacularly mundane, and with the twins being so busy, all the time their magic was usually settled.  As a matter of fact, the last outburst Heather had noted was during the ‘ _Author-i-tay’_ days, and that had been Harry causing Dudley to explode his pants via explosive flatulence.

But that didn’t mean that the story she had read was ever too far from her mind.  She might forget the sound of her husband’s voice, the exact colors of her cat’s coats, and the tunes of her favorite songs, a little more every day, but _stories_ she remembered.  She still missed Before as sharply as she had when she first woke up when she stopped to think about it, but that’s why she was so thankful for stories.  Not all of them were ones she had read, some of them were memories she didn’t want to forget.

She had begun writing them, in sort of a code only she would be able to decipher helped along with childishly messy scrawl, once she had first gotten her hands on crayons.  The older she got, the more she recopied down, with as much detail as she could remember.  She changed some names and other things to disguise people or events she wanted to keep secret, but her dedication to remembering had never waned, not really.

Well, maybe during the debacle, but that was self-preservation.

But, back to the topic, she _did_ know that gifted could read minds.  And that at least three of them were particularly powerful and held no qualms with diving into the sanctity of someone’s mind.

And she could understand Harry’s fear.  A person’s mind was sacrosanct, and if someone shared something personal it should be on _their_ terms.  Obviously, caveats could be made for criminals, but the point basically boiled down to respecting a person’s boundaries and right to privacy, and basic human decency, and those three powerful men she knew could read minds-

Well.  None of them cared about privacy one whit.

All for different reasons, and they all had wildly different motivations, but _none_ of them were welcome in her mind.  Nor were they welcome in her little brother’s mind.

But, even Before, when she had heard about ‘Occlumency’ and mental barriers, she had always felt…stifled, by such things.  Human beings were complex and always in motion and forever changing, adapting, and evolving.  Perhaps there were people who were self-disciplined enough to do build a Mind Palace and maintain it with impunity, but Heather, and Harry, were far too perceptive, far too active, for such sedate methods.

 _‘What I really want to guard my mind is an ocean.’_   Heather thought, tripping and stumbling through her planned argument.  ‘ _Like the Pacific.  Perhaps calm and sunny and serene on my good days and building up a Class 5 hurricane on my bad ones.  But even if a mental probe punched through that layer of defense, they would find the depths.  The light would slowly fade, and the further down the probe went, the more dangerous it gets.  Sharks, whales, jellyfish, and other things that might not seem insurmountable to a wizard, but more than enough to unsettle them.  And it would just keep going and going and going, until the probe couldn’t find its way out and whoever cast it would have to abandon it.  Oceans protect themselves, and no two waves are ever the same.  So they could try for years- decades, centuries- but they would never ding their way to my core.’_

She told Harry she thought they might, and mentioned her preferred defense.

**\---XXX---**

The next day, Harry asked Gramps about the Pacific Ocean.

The twins devoted entire poster boards to their study of the ocean.  They spent their time swimming imagining swimming in the endless blue of the Pacific.  They studied the warm climate ocean, the cold climate ocean, the deepest points, decompression sickness, and the strange creatures of the Mariana Trench.

Everything Harry could wring out of Gramps or find in the Library.

There was plenty of information.  Too much for poor Heather, sometimes.

She just wanted some lazy days, curled up with a good book and nothing else planned.  Was that too much to ask?

And, at Harry’s insistence, they spent most nights, while they were laying down ready for bed, imagining their magic shaping an ocean behind their eyes.  Some nights they were far too exhausted to try, but Harry was unexpectedly insistent about the exercise, so Heather did her best to stay awake for an extra quarter or half hour to indulge him.

“Like everything we know, from the consistency of the water, to the sharks- everything.”  Harry told her seriously while he was trying to convince her the lost sleep was worth it.  His green eyes were so earnest and determined, Heather crumbled like an unstable Jenga pile.  “Imagine the whole of the ocean behind your eyeballs.”  His cute face scrunched up in thought.  “That sounded cooler in my head.”

Heather thought it sounded a little ridiculous and it was likely doomed to fail, but maybe every little bit helped?

Also, her baby was _adorable_.  So she’d give it an honest try, just for him.

She certainly didn’t want any unwanted visitors inside her head, so she’d try with all of her might.  And it was surprisingly cathartic, to cuddle up beside her brother and imagine that the vast, untapped strength of the Pacific guarded the entrance to her core.

A lot could happen on a child’s faith, though.  Heather just hoped that might include her too.

‘ _At least protect Harry.’_   She would pray at night, when she glanced over at her sleeping brother and she was struck by just how _young_ he was.  ‘ _If protecting our minds this was truly is impossible, I’ll find a way to protect myself.  But please, please protect my brother.’_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather was amused to discover that while she was shit as a singles tennis player, her and Harry as a team were pretty unstoppable.

Harry preferred to be further back, but Heather was _really_ _good_ at guarding the net.  She could catch trick balls and send them to an out-of-position spot with startling ease.

Seriously, startling.  She hadn’t been sporty at _all_ Before.

When they won their first doubles Match, Gramps and Nana Anna were in the stands, cheering loudly, with Kris hollering excitedly beside them.

‘ _This_.’  Heather thought as she and Harry were tackled by Kris, closely followed by Nana Anna, with Gramps following sedately behind.  ‘ _Are the moments it’s all about._ ’

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed this~!!


	3. Alterations Arc, Part I

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

No matter how much Heather tried to treasure each day, time seemed to rush forward.

_‘I still can’t believe we’re already nine.  Almost ten.’_   She thought as she glanced over the array of pictures that adorned the window wall of their room.  Harry was a main feature in them, but there were a fair few of both of them.

There was one of them that first summer with their tennis team, and then another one with them and Coach Rachel.  Another picture of them with Gramps and the rest of the Advanced Class.  Some more of Holiday Programs, birthday parties, tennis matches, Gramps and Nana Anna as well as Coach Rachel and Kris, a few field trips, swim meets, and random pictures from various other moments that had been special to the twins.

But time was a cruel mistress, and sometimes the brightest candles only burn half as long.

It was why Heather was dressed in all black, sitting in front of her brother while he carefully braided her hair.  It was taking a longer than usual- he usually could braid her hair in about five minutes- because he kept fumbling strands whenever his glasses fogged over, but Heather felt much the same, so she sat patiently.

Her heart ached, though.  It _ached_ and it _bled_ and it _hurt_. 

Last fall, Nana Anna had gotten a headache that never went away.  When she went to the doctor they had given her medicine to help with the headaches, but it wasn’t until December that her new doctor ordered tests, and what they found had not been promising.

Harry had begged Heather to write to Connie, and she had, though she felt she already knew the answer.

And Heather had.

_“I am terribly sorry to hear of your grandmother’s poor health, little one.”  Connie had written, her neat words somehow conveying her sincere regret on the matter.  “But gifted-crafted remedies, while powerful, do not work correctly if a person lacks our inherent gifts.  I am certain your aunt must have informed the two of you of complex non-gifted medicine being rather useless for gifted?  Complex gifted medicine has rather the same affects to non-gifted, I’m afraid.  The side effects non-gifted experience as a result being given complex gifted medicine are usually much more dire, and almost always, rather painfully, fatal.  I am truly, terribly sorry, but there is nothing I can offer to help your grandmother.”_

Harry ripped up the letter, his magic swirling around him as his emotions raged, and screamed his throat raw before collapsing, bonelessly, against Heather, sobbing so hard he caused himself to vomit.

The whole time, he had cursed magic.  _Magic_ and _the world_ and _everything_ because _what was the point_.

Heather had held him tightly, having taken him into Number Three’s vast backyard while the rest of the family had been at the hospital.  Nana Anna hadn’t liked it when the twins visited her while she was there, but even though Kris and everyone did their best to keep Nana Anna in her home, she still had to go to the hospital for weekly checkups.

Nana Anna had lived long enough to see her first grandchild born, a little girl named Madeline, who Kris had carried, but Nana Anna had passed on, peacefully, in her sleep that very night.

_“Remember me as I was, not like this.”  She had told them the last time they saw her.  She was so weak at that point she could barely sit up, but she was all but glowing over the newly born Maddie.  “And don’t ever forget that your old Nan loves you.”  She smiled down at the squirmy bundle in her arms.  “Love, my dears, never dies.  And that is why it is the greatest gift that one person can give to another.”_

Gramps was positively devastated. 

He’d already quit his job, having only stayed there for this long because that was what Nana had wanted.  It was April, but Gramps just couldn’t bring himself to work another day, not with his wife gone.

The three remaining Pritchards were planning on moving up North, and were already in the process, despite Nana’s passing only being a few days past. Gramps had hired movers, he said he couldn’t even look at the house with Nana gone.  Around Christmas, Coach had finally found a permanent position up near Leeds, so they had already been looking into houses and such.  Kris could work from home and mind Maddy, so they were all going to move, instead of just Kris and Coach.  Kris had told the twins she’d send them a letter with their new address once they got settled, and had tearfully ordered for them to send lots of letters.

Harry’s breathing hitched and her hair slipped out of his grasp again, but she just sat patiently.  As it was, Heather happened to be intimately aware of how wretched grief could be, especially when it happened so young, and she was more than content to just be here for her baby, even if she was grieving as well.

Grief- well, it never got ‘easier’ or ‘better’.  It was just as wretched first time as it was the tenth and it was a terrible lesson to have to learn.

At least the Pritchards were having the Service here, mostly so the Potter twins could attend, which Heather greatly appreciated.

She did not, however, appreciate the cruel things that Vernon and sometimes Petunia were already whispering- either to the twins or the neighbors.  Things about the twins being bad luck and how everyone who got near them died, those sorts of things. 

So long as they only said such despicable things where she could hear, and left Harry out of it, Heather would bite her tongue and deal with it.  If they even breathed such a thing anywhere near her baby, there would be _war_.

The past few years had been sort of a stalemate, with the twins spending so much time away from Number Four.  Heather had honestly thought Petunia had had a change of heart after the whole debacle- at least enough to leave the twins alone, so long as they didn’t disturb he Dursleys too much- so Heather was sort of flummoxed by the woman’s sudden streak of vindictiveness.

“Why?”  Harry asked her, voice so full of heartbreak and loss Heather’s own tears welled up again.  “Why do we get close to people if they’re just going…going to d- _die_?”

“Well.”  Heather said with a sad, melancholic smile as she turned and wrapped her arms around her baby, who all but collapsed off the bed and onto her.  She eased them down to the floor, slipping both their glasses off and setting them aside, and then holding him close, kissing his very faded, jagged scar mostly out of habit.  “Do you regret knowing Nana Anna?”

“Yes!”  Harry sobbed, clinging to her and crying so hard he dry heaved a few times.  “Yes!  It _hurts_!”

“Mm.”  Heather hummed casually, rubbing his back lightly and rocking him back and forth gently.  “And now, the truth?”

Harry cried for another long while, wetting the front of her dress and shaking in her arms.  “No.”  Harry eventually admitted, unclenching his fists a little and looking up at her with red-rimmed, miserable eyes.  “But it _hurts_.”  Harry’s voice broke towards the end and he buried his face back into her chest.

“I know, baby.  I know.”  Heather soothed gently, her owns tears sliding down her face and dripping onto Harry’s hair.  Thankfully the tissues were nearby, her nose always ran like a river whenever she cried.  “But it the reason why it hurts is because love never dies.”  Heather smiled down at Harry’s very confused, teary face.  “People die, it is how this whole life thing works- no one gets out alive!”

Harry did not appreciate her lame joke.  At all.

Heather sniffle-huffed, it was a strange noise, and smiled at him through her tears.  “Nana Anna’s body is gone, true, but the love she gave us- that she gave her family and her friends- those memories of her still live on inside us.  And as long as we remember the kind lady who treated us like a grandmother, the love Nana Anna gave us, what she taught us, will live on.”  Heather smiled sadly and smoothed back Harry’s hair, her own ghosts feeling strangely pensive in the back of her mind.  “It might not be the best way to think about it, but I figure that as long as I remember that, when we all finally make it to Heaven, she’ll be proud of me.  And of the time and love she invested in me.”

Heather spoke the words, feeling a little like a traitor.  But she still believed, even as stupid as it sounded- even to her- but she _had_ to.  The idea of one day life ending and finally making it to Glory was the bandage that allowed her past to rest, even if it sometimes smacked her in the face, like right now.

She wondered if it was a lie; if she still believed and was a sort of an exception to the rule. 

_‘Where much is given, much is required, I suppose.’_   She sighed as Harry’s broke out into a new wave of sobs and she quietly comforted him _.  ‘At least Connie’s information packet to Petunia did state that the witches the Old Testament talked about were actually separate from naturally-born magicals.  Of course, it also opened up a whole other can of worms regarding deities and such, but at least I can lay that one thing to rest.’_

It didn’t make listening to her baby cry his heart out any easier, though.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Life after the Nana Anna was rather dull.

The twins still spent a fair bit of time at the Little Whinging Sports Club, of course, they were well-known and quite well-liked by both the staff and the patrons.  The new Manager was a jerk, but the Maria and Shannon were still amazing.

Harry cried every night for the first two months after nana Anna’s death.  Heather had suggested giving the Club a break for a while, but Harry stubbornly refused.

_“I’d rather go there and remember Nana Anna than forget her.”  He yelled at her.  Heather remained quiet and patient, knowing that Harry was having a very rough time dealing with his first- remembered- loss.  “I don’t-“  Harry broke off his statement angrily, swiping at his eyes and scowling down at the floor of the supply closet.  “They_ left _.”  He finally said a few moments later.  “They left us, and this is all we have to remember her by.  Number Three isn’t the_ same _anymore!”_

So Heather had done her best to be tolerant and understanding, though the trial certainly took its toll on her sanity.

But back at Number Four, things grew tense. 

The whisper campaign against the twins grated on Heather’s nerves, but she tried to grin and bear it since Harry never overheard them. 

When summer ended, the two were informed that the school had been unable to find another Advanced Teacher, so they were to be bumped back down to regular classes.  Unsaid, but heavily implied, was the fact that the Dursleys had refused any and all offers to accommodate the twins’ needs.  Heather assumed that the headmaster had used the fact the education system was in the middle of major overhaul- and had been for several years- to hide the evidence. 

‘ _Bite my shiny metal ass_.’  Had been Heather’s inspiring thoughts about the developments once the final verdict had been handed down. 

At least it had gotten a laugh out of Harry.

Petunia had not been quite as impressed, but Heather could care less.  The woman grew a bit more prickly and unpleasant with each day that passed, no matter how contained and discreet the twins kept their bouts of accidental magic.

Grief, stress, and underage magicals, were not a particularly benign combination.  The twins had more uncontrolled outbursts of magic that summer and early fall than they had ever had.

It was draining, and a true test of Heather’s personal resolve to set a good example for her baby. Grieving, dealing with Harry as he grieved, trying to keep them both busy, worrying about Hogwarts- she’d been putting that off for years now- and then dealing with spiteful people who enjoyed the twins being subdued and melancholic. 

It was chafing and infuriating, and it took all of Heather’s mental discipline and hard-earned patience to keep her and Harry grounded, but she gave it her all.

It didn’t always work out well, but she did her best.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

 “This is _so_ _boring_.”  Harry whispered to her, making her smile slightly and readjust the book they were reading instead of actually paying attention to the regular Year Six teacher.  “We’ll be heading to…what was the regular name again?”

“ _Cináed mac Ailpín_ Institute.”  Heather whispered back, quietly turning a page.  “Yeah.  The packet that Connie sent our dear darling Aunt- don’t roll your eyes so hard, dear, you’ll sprain them!- said that once we get our Letters we can go shopping.”

“How?”  Harry asked, as he tried to read the bit that was hidden by the corner of her desk.  “I mean, we’re pretty thrifty and all, but I doubt our bank account has enough for us to buy supplies for a whole year.”

“I’m really glad Gramps is our sponsor.”  Heather muttered quietly, turning the page of the book of the desk, causing Harry to quickly copy her, so they could continue the polite fiction that they were paying attention.  “Otherwise we never would have gotten their new address.”

“Yeah.”  Harry muttered mutinously. 

“But Connie said the Potter family is an old one.”  Heather turned another page of the book they were reading.  “And, according to the Ministry for the Gifted’s confusing rules, if we don’t go to the Bank ourselves before our birthday, and present our Letters, then our Trust Vault Key will be mailed to the Headmaster.”

“That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”  Harry asked confusedly, a somewhat constipated expression on his face. 

“Well, it apparently has to do with the fact that the Headmaster is considered neutral.”  Heather whispered, ducking her head when the teacher’s beady gaze landed on the twins.

When she felt it safe to continue, she added, “Apparently, there were a lot of years when there was still infighting among the gifted, around the time the Institute was founded.  The school was built to educate _all_ the gifted on the Isles, so it has always been considered neutral.”  Heather made a face.  “The fact that the sitting Headmaster has two other political positions; one as the basically the Speaker of Parliament, and the other as the…like the Secretary-General of the United Nations, of the ICW, is unorthodox and unprecedented.  According to Connie, anyways.”  Heather shot her brother a quick grin.  “Following?”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Harry grouched as the twins turned another page in their textbooks.  “And what does that have to do with our banking information?”

“Right.  So.  The Institute is considered neutral to _everyone_ on the Isles.  Meaning that, even during the banker’s rebellions, the Institute was never lumped with the Ministry for the Gifted.”  Heather grinned ruefully at her brother.  “To add some extra information, the last of the banker’s _major_ rebellions, aside from some minor though apparently no less bloody ones later, was just before the Statute.  So, even when the bankers were pissed off and at war with the gifted population at large, Hogwarts was neutral.” 

“Kind of like Switzerland?  You know, where they passed the Geneva Conventions and stuff?”  Harry asked quietly.

“Something like that.  I think”  Heather replied with a soft sigh.  “Anyways, to prevent backstabbing and to stick it to the gifted, part of the that last major treaty was that under aged beneficiaries to Old Houses like us, Connie’s words, who had no remaining directly related- like grandparent or parent- gifted would receive their Trust keys- apparently it is standard for these families for the bank to automatically generate one upon receiving the birth notification- from the Bank, via the- supposedly- neutral Headmaster.  Of course, this was only if the under aged heirs hadn’t presented themselves at the Bank, Letter in hand, prior to their eleventh birthday.  Otherwise the key is mailed to the Headmaster who would, at least theoretically, deliver it himself and assess the situation.”

Harry chewed on the information for a long moment.  “So, like, it was sort of a fail-safe?”  He cocked his head to the side after a moment and added.  “A kind of weird one.”

“I think so.” Heather admitted with a grimace.  “Connie tried to simplify it, but it really _isn’t_ simple.  Like, I don’t understand how the whole Letter thing plays into the rules of the Bank, or why our parent’s Will wouldn’t have designated a guardian, or how the rest of the finances are being run with Petunia _definitely_ not knowing or able to access the Potter money, but we’ll just have to find out.”

And Heather was incredibly curious about all of it; most especially about their parents’ Will.

James and Lily Potter had been fighting in a _war_.  Heather knew that they had been young, but James had lost his parents not too long before Graduation, according to the story Heather had read, so why was there no Will?  Had it been suppressed?  And even if it had, why would Gringotts, who very much enjoyed sticking it to arrogant wizards from what she could tell, care about a Wizengamot order?

Heather did her best to not think of Harry’s Godfather, the cheerful man she could just barely remember.  She tried not to imagine him cold, wet, and being tortured by his own Survivor’s Guilt on that frozen rock out in the middle of the sea.  Surrounded by creatures that made her shiver just _thinking_ about them.

But Heather had to stay focused on what she _could_ do, not what she couldn’t; or she would have gone completely mental by now.

“I know we’re going to have to do a lot of really boring reading to learn how things work on the other side.” Harry’s voice drew her out of her thoughts, and she almost laughed at the resigned look on her face.  “But that has got to be about a hundred times better than listening to the slow version of things we learned when we were like, _seven_.”

_‘Aww, he’s so cute when he’s pouty.’_   Heather thought with a grin, which she valiantly tried to hide. 

She failed. 

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

The summer solstice of 1991 was on June twenty-first, and their Letters reached Number Four about mid-morning on the twenty-second.

Petunia delivered them to the twins after she had shooed Dudley and Vernon out of the house to go golfing together, as it was a Saturday.  “Open them.”  Petunia ordered, having wrapped the Letters up in a tea towel in order to bring them to the twins, who had been in their room.

Heather had had them stay at Number Four because Petunia had pointedly reminded her that the solstice was coming up a few days ago.

Heather admired the handsome parchment and elegant, nearly calligraphy-styled writing for a long moment, lightly running her fingers over the smooth texture and artfully tattered edges.  She flipped it over and lifted the incredibly detailed, stamped wax seal to her nose.

It smelled of parchment, ink, and stone; but for some reason all she saw was endless wheat fields, a little house in the middle of nowhere, and a warm presence beside her.

She swallowed thickly.

_Home_.

Then Harry shifted beside her, and she snapped back into the present; with some concentrated effort she was able to push the deluge of homesickness down.

She had a home here, too.  One that was about to be placed into the middle of a race war.  _Harry_ was _home_ , and she felt she owed it to him make the best use of her foreknowledge as she could.  So she dragged her mind fully back into the present and ordered her thoughts, lowering the letter and breaking the thick seal.

It was surprisingly stiff, and the moment it _snapped_ , Heather felt a rush of warm magic wash over her; it lingered on her skin for a moment, as if searching for something, and then it seemed to almost dance before exploding into a shower of little sparks.

That was what it felt like, anyway.

_‘This is it.’_   She thought with a mix of trepidation and excitement _.  ‘This is where it all starts.’_

It didn’t take her long to skim the Letter and the couple of enclosed flyer things.  The Letter and the supply list were pretty much what she expected, but there was also a little additional advertising type thing.  Like a Tesco flyer being put inside a newspaper.

The pictures on it moved and everything!

Petunia had left at some point, and when she came back her lips were firmly pressed together, in her most pinched expression.

“I called _that_ woman.” She sniffed from the doorway.  “She said she would meet you at the train station, near the Club, Tuesday morning.”  Petunia hesitated for a moment, seeming pained.  As if she wanted to say something important, but then changed her mind.  “I informed her it would be best if you did not return here before school begins.  She said she will see to finding you alternate accommodations, so be sure to take whatever you want to keep with you, with you on Tuesday.  There’s an old trunk in the attic you may use, but I would suggest you take anything you might value.” 

The woman was running her hands over her apron obsessively, and Heather was once again struck by just how much she pitied Petunia.  Because for as horrid as the woman was to the twins most of the time, she did care for them, if only a little.  And Petunia had had more than a few opportunities to start over with the twins, to be a real aunt and a better person.

But Petunia had been afraid.  Afraid of change, afraid of rocking the boat.

And now-

Well, now the twins were more than halfway out the door.  And all the parties involved knew that the time for building bridges was over and that even the slimmest sliver of hope that they could be real family had gone dark.

Heather had tried.  Over and over again, she had extended olive branches, but Petunia had burned them.  All of them.

And now it was just a matter of time until they left her.  Just like Lily had done.

It was all very sad to Heather.

“We will.”  Heather replied, firmly pushing away her wandering thoughts.  “Thank you for letting us use the trunk, and for calling Madam Connie.”

Petunia nodded stiffly before spinning on her heel and quickly walking away.

“I kind of feel bad for her.”  Harry murmured quietly, his nose buried in the parchment sheets, as if he could learn all the secrets of magic if he just stared hard enough.  “But not bad enough to stay.”  He quickly added.

Heather rolled her eyes at her brother, set her Letter down, and tugged on Harry’s hand.  “Come on, Har-bear.  We had best go get that trunk.  _Before_ Vernon and Dudley get back.”

“Ergh.”  Harry moaned as she dragged him towards the door.  “But it’ll be _heavy_ , Heather-feather.”

“Kind of the point of it being a trunk, Har-bear.”

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Pulling down all of their wall art, taking down all their pictures, and deciding what to keep and what to throw out had been both therapeutic and exhausting.  Both had decided to not leave anything in the room that was even slightly important to them, and the room was pretty bare- aside from Dudley’s toy graveyard- by the time they finished up, Sunday evening.

The trunk was actually fairly big, and with all the time Harry had spent at the arcade playing _Tetris_ over the past few years combined with Heather’s packing techniques, they were able to fit quite a bit inside.

Heather had to admit that it ended up being exceptionally heavy, though.

Thankfully, it had wheels.  And there were two of them.

They snuck it down the stairs, using a couple of old rugs to prevent damaging Petunia’s floors, when the Dursleys went out to see a movie Monday evening.  They hid it in the garage, underneath some plastic that had been sitting around for who-knows-how-long.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

The twins had gone to the Club, Monday, to tell Maria and Shannon that they would be leaving until next summer.  Both women had known the twins were expecting an acceptance letter to their parent’s _alma mater_ , so they had surprised the twins with a joint present.  From not only them, but several of the patrons who were particularly fond of the twins.

They had gotten several nice things- mostly necessities, like expensive washcloths, or really fluffy towels- but Heather’s possible favorite thing was from the ‘ _Youth’_ patron, who had given them a two page, neatly typed checklist.

_“I’m the personal shopper for several people who travel often.”  She explained to them, once Heather and Harry had gone over to thank her.  “So, I like to think I know a bit about planning and packing.”_

**\---XXX---**

The twins waited for Vernon to leave for work on Tuesday before going downstairs.  Well, they had snuck out to get breakfast early in the morning, but they had quickly gone back upstairs, given Petunia’s irritable snapping.

Given that the twins had known the contents of the letter that had been left with them, they did their best to look as unworthy of a second glance as possible.  Harry braided Heather’s hair up into a crown and then twisted it into the simile of a flower at the center, in the back.

Her baby was _so talented_.

Heather usually was mistaken as being older, despite Harry being a few inches taller, so she had added a dash of eyeliner- she had nearly forgotten how annoying that shit was- and wore a cheerfully bright skirt under her button down shirt, purchased precisely for this occasion.  Her headgear was a wide-brimmed, floppy hat, decorated in bright flowers, which helped conceal her face.

She even had some open toed, kitten heeled shoes that were amazingly comfortable. Heather wasn’t much of a clothes person, but she did love a good pair of shoes.  Especially when she could get comfort and a bit of height.

Harry had gotten haircut recently, was fairly tan, and dressed neatly in a pair of slacks and a polo shirt.  He kept his trainers, as they were white and his slacks were grey, so they _mostly_ matched.

She had dabbed a bit of concealer on him, too.  Though she had cut his bangs- Before-her’s cousin had been a hairdresser, and Heather had learned a few things about _simple_ haircuts through the years, though she was no professional- so they would fall over his forehead at an angle.  Since Harry’s eyesight was mostly because he had trouble with things that were too close, they stored his glasses in the side-satchel Heather was carrying with their snacks, important papers, and other random bits they didn’t want to have to be constantly diving into the meticulously packed trunk for.

They were hoping that without him having glasses and seeming to be different ages, they wouldn’t be immediately noted as the Potter twins.

“So, do we go in and tell her bye or just leave?”  Harry asked Heather quietly.

“I think we should just leave.”  Heather said with a soft sigh.  “She doesn’t like Dudley’s shows, she likes to watch day programs here in the kitchen instead, so the fact that she’s in the living room, pretending to be engrossed in _The Great Humberto_ is sort of a red flag.”

Harry wrinkled his nose, but after a few moments of them just looking around like idiots, Heather gently began to steer him towards the garage.

“Well, we’re off to the see the wizard.”  She murmured softly, making Harry snort in amusement and break out into a smile.

“The wonderful wizard of Oz…”  He took up as he quietly closed the door that led from the house to the garage behind.

By the time they had uncovered the battered brown trunk, they had lapsed into giggles.  As they walked out into the bright sunshine and down the familiar walkways it somehow felt like Heather was watching from the outside.

They didn’t really say anything as they pulled the trunk behind them, the heavy thing needing the both of them to keep control of it. 

But-

Heather still felt a sort of final closure in this journey, as silly as it sounded.  For better or for worse, they had spent a decade in this little place, sheltered by their unpleasant, but slightly sympathetic aunt.  There hadn’t even been any of the random encounters, Heather suddenly remembered, that Harry had mentioned in the books.

Was it her?  The wards the Headmaster had created-

Or had her mother created the ward, and he had just reinforced it?

Heather flicked a quick glance over at her brother, eying his scar.

She had largely tried to put it out of her mind; the fact that Harry’s scar wasn’t a lightning bolt, and the fact that it just looked like an old scar.  It had still been a little angry and raised when they were toddlers, but over time it had faded, to look like a regular, if particularly thick and stubborn, blemish.

And instead of being mistaken for a rune, it just looked like a slightly jagged cut.  More like an open ended triangle, like a shard of glass had caught him. 

But why-

_The man kissed her mother’s brow with eerily contrasting gentleness before he gripped a thin piece of wood that she understood to be his wand and pointed it at her unconscious brother, who was sitting up next to her prone form.  She had screamed just as the man snarled something in a low, menacing tone of voice that hurt her heart to hear even in a half-fogged recollection, and then her memory just…ended._

Heather was struck by the memory all of a sudden, stumbling to a sudden stop.

“Heather-feather?”  Harry asked.  His annoyance at almost being run over by the trunk she had suddenly let go of fading as he looked at her closer.  “Heather-feather, are you alright?  Heather?!”

Heather shook her head sharply, pushing down that little tidbit of information and smiling reassuringly at her brother.  “I’m fine.  Just had a moment where I thought I forgot something and panicked.”

Harry didn’t look like he totally believed her, but he was nice enough to let it go. 

“Yeah, well, next time you suddenly remember something, try to not kill me.”  He drawled dryly, and Heather couldn’t help but smile warmly at him.

“True, I don’t think your head could take much more trauma.”  Heather teased him with a bright grin as they got the trunk under control and moving again.

“Hey!” 

Harry was getting really good at pretending to be offended, she noticed with amusement.

“You resemble that?”  She shot back, instead of dwelling on her thoughts.

“…touché.”  He sniffed, tossing his nose in the air and stalking forward.

Which….didn’t work out well.

You know, since they were _both_ steering the trunk.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Connie looked pretty much the same as the last time Heather had seen her, and she was just as accommodating as ever.  The first thing she did was pull them aside, shrink their trunk down to the size of a matchbox, and slip it into her purse.

“I am _so_ jealous.”  Harry muttered to Heather as they boarded the train.

“There.”  Connie said as she withdrew a rolled up newspaper from her bag and discretely tapped it with her wand.  Heather felt the static-like feeling wash over her and Connie tucked the paper inside the curve of the edge of the bench seat.  “Now we may speak freely.”  She smiled at the twins as she refitted her wand into her sleeve. 

The twins were sitting across from her, as the train they were on held sets of mirrored booths, and they had commandeered an empty set all for themselves. 

“First of all, a bit of background and general information.  Then questions!”  She said with a pointed smile at Heather.

Heather felt she should be embarrassed at the little notepad she had whipped out that held questions she and Harry had come up with, most especially over the past several days, but she felt none.

_‘Overkill is underrated, my friend.’_  She thought primly as Harry began to snigger beside her.

“First of all, we are heading the main shopping district for the Isles.  There are a few others, but they are mostly small operations, like Hogsmeade, which is near Hogwarts.”  Connie informed them briskly, producing a map from nowhere and having it unfold with a wave of her wand.  “The district was established in 1665, by the Ministry for Magic, in preparation for the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy.”  She smiled at them rather wryly.  “You’ll find, that with the proper upkeep and magic, things last quite a while in the gifted world.  However, an area with so many gifted gathered together is bound to have some troubles with magical residue or spell build up, given the sheer number of people involved.  That is the reason many of the buildings might seem dingy or unkempt to a casual observer from the other side, but I assure you that the majority of them are quite safe.”

_Huh_.  That explained quite a bit, actually.

“Now, the space is very gifted in design.  The street we will enter- and the name for the over district- is Diagon Alley.”  Connie grinned at the twins’ snort of disbelief.  “Oh, it gets worse!  Gifted tend to be very tongue-in-cheek, sometimes!  “At any rate, Diagon is where most Hogwarts students shop, and they are a very general sort of collection of businesses.” 

_‘Note to self, get a map.’_   Heather thought with a grimace as she looked at Connie’s map.  ‘Alley’ was sort of misleading, as Heather could see at least twenty structures, some with multiple names that all shifted around and made her head spin a bit.  ‘ _Or you will get lost and never be found.’_

Connie tapped the map and it moved, to show a tennis racket shaped street, to the left and down a little from Diagon.  “Horizont Alley is where things like the grocer or the apothecary, or perhaps the smaller bookstores.  There is also a fair few flats there.  Mostly rentals.”  Another tap brought them up a bit, to a lopsided rectangle looking street.  “Directly north of Horizont, is Vertick Alley.  That is where you would find private Healer practices, law firms, and the like.  A lot of the Wizengamot or Old Families- like the Potters- have offices here.”  She tapped the map one more time and brought them back to the right of the original Diagon map.  “Whimsic Alley is mostly a higher-end version of Diagon, though that is where a lot of the specialist stores are located, as well.” 

Heather had thought they were done, but she guessed not.

Connie sighed heavily and tapped the map again, bringing them to a straight line that ran from the top of Vertick to the furthest point of Whimsic.  “Knockturn Alley is considered a…slum, I suppose.”  Connie gave them a firm glare over the edge of her glasses.  “Now, many of the stores are just as fine as any of the others, but the taverns like to serve less than upstanding folk, and it is dangerous to travel, especially at night.  Or alone.”

She gave Heather a meaningful look.

‘ _Noted_.’ Heather thought somewhat apprehensively.  Not in the least bit of hurry to poke her nose into a dangerous situation before she had at least a year or two of magical schooling under her belt and her brother to watch her back.

From the way Harry’s lips had turned downwards, he had apparently caught the message as well.

Heather had never seen the point of lying about how dangerous the world could be.  She wanted Harry to have a well-rounded worldview!  So she had explained all the strange ‘advice’ that she had been given over the years by random women.  Some were things she agreed with, while others were things she passionately disagreed with, but she and Harry had discussed them all.  The braiding incident had only fueled his curiosity about the understanding gender roles and why they existed.

He’d nearly died laughing when he found out that heeled shoes were originally worn by men and that the women, of the time, had taken to wearing them to seem more ‘masculine’ and therefore more capable.

“Now then!”  Connie chirped cheerfully, tapping the map with her wand and handing the folded up parchment to Heather.  “That is yours to keep, dear.  At the very end of Diagon, is Gringotts Bank, which will be our first stop of the day.  I expect it to take quite a while, so I brought a book.  I have arranged for you to stay at the inn that is at the opposite end of Diagon from the entrance, nearly in Horizont, the Singing Siren.  The Leaky Cauldron is also an inn, but it sees a fair bit more traffic, as it hosts not only the public entrance to Diagon from London proper, it is used as the closest destination for those gifted traveling by Floo- we’ll get to that!- and it is also one of the more popular gifted pubs.  The Singing Siren costs a bit more, but…”

“Yeah, we’d rather stay there.”  Harry piped up from beside Heather.  “Heather-feather can only deal with so many people in one day.”

“As can we all, dear.”  Connie said rather wryly.  “Now, Gringotts is owned and operated by the Stoneblood Nation, who are colloquially known as Goblins.”  Connie waved her wand and a smoky picture appeared.

The being stood about as tall as a Year One student, with slightly lumpy skin, long spindly fingers ended with sharp talons, a rather pronounced, angled nose, and piercing, attentive dark eyes.

“The gifted governments of the Isles has a long history of conflict with the Stoneblood Nation, and even to this day their relations remain….contentious.”  Connie smiled to the twins rather sardonically.  “The Stoneblood are charged with the financial matters of more than a few gifted nations, and hold nearly a quarter of the seats on the Council for Financial Matters, at the ICW.  Despite the laws that strip them of their right to bear wands, they are quite formidable.”  

There was a certain amount of disparagement in her tone as Connie continued, though Heather could see the woman was trying to be objective as possible.

Heather empathized with her struggle.  On a personal level.

Connie grimaced lightly.  “Truthfully, the Stoneblood never had much use for wands, but the Ministry for Magic’s history of denying them this basic right is the crux of the issue.  As anyone who is unable to legally bear wand is considered to be….. less than a full citizen by the laws of the land in the Isles.” 

‘ _Well, that certainly explained a lot about the cultural misunderstandings and miscommunications in the books_.’  Heather thought with a grimace. 

“Forgive me, my personal thoughts on the matter are clouding my information.”  Connie apologized primly, before going on to add, in a more optimistic tone.  “My main advice is for you to never refer to them as ‘Goblins’ and to treat them in the same manner as you would any other banker.  You two, as Potters, are likely to have a Manager, instead of a nominal Curator.  At least according to my research.” 

“They sound like two completely different things.”  Harry piped up curiously.  “One sounds like a banker, and the other sounds like….a pet store owner or zookeeper or something.”

Heather poked her brother lightly in the side, causing him to blush a little, but Connie just beamed at them.

“There is a very distinct difference, dear.”  Connie confided warmly. “A Manager is Stoneblood whose direct family line has dealt with your family’s holdings since the Statute was implemented or even before- the Stoneblood’s financial acuity and formidable mastery of earthen magics are not a new concept whatsoever- regardless of any conflicts that arose afterwards.  The Stoneblood are a warrior race, so please do keep in mind that to declare themselves as the Managers for the Potter family- and therefore neutral, as a matter of course- there had to have been an incredible amount of trust and good faith between the pact makers.”

The next bit of time sort of blurred for Heather as Connie explained the Floo, why the entrance to the Alley was in the pub- _“Security, dears.  The pub supplies an extra layer and would buy the Alley extra time in the event they were discovered.”_ \- and that Hogwart’s tuition was paid for by the Ministry for Magic, and anyone claiming otherwise was a scam artist.

It was apparently a very popular scam and tended to target those who showed a lack of familiarity with how the gifted world worked.

The opaque illustrations she made out of thin air were really cool, though.  Heather _totally_ couldn’t want to learn how to do stuff like that!

‘ _People are people, wherever you go, I suppose_.’  Heather thought somewhat fatalistically.

“So, I guess my first question is about the money?”  Heather asked once Connie had gone silent and turned an expectant gaze towards her.  “Your letter mentioned Knuts, Sickles, and Galleons, but some perspective, maybe?”

Connie smiled warmly.  “You are truly a quick-witted young lady, dear.”

Heather smiled back at the woman, but she was well aware of the fact that she was just an old enough to appreciate the value of a fairly unbiased information source when entering an unknown situation.

“A galleon is worth seventeen sickles, and twenty nine knuts make up a sickle.”  Connie told them, waving her wand around to show them a slightly transparent conversion chart.  “In order to prevent gifted from taking advantage of normal currency exchange rates, due to the vast amount of difference between worlds and their relative costs of living, a galleon exchanged for normal currency is fixed at five pounds. To prevent abuse of the system.” 

‘ _Ouch_.’  Heather thought with a wince.  ‘ _No wonder the books didn’t have much crossover_.  _I don’t know what a galleon is worth, but it seemed like a whole lot more than five pounds!’_

Connie gave Heather and Harry each a long, serious look.  “I would advise you to not to attempt to circumvent Gringotts and try to spend galleons at non-gifted shops.  Nor should you attempt to have the gifted currency sold for their metals.  Gringotts Bank has its own special brand of magic, and while there _is_ the occasional case of accidental mix ups, they are _not kind_ to thieves.  Which is what both of those situations would fall under.  Bear in mind that the Bank has sole jurisdiction in such cases, due to more than just a single treaty.”

“Noted.”  Heather replied promptly, scribbling down an annotated answer.

“Now that you both understand that.”  Connie continued in a much lighter voice.  “The literal value of a galleon, according to the Council for Financial Matters, is, currently, approximately twenty-five pounds.  That means a sickle is worth roughly a pound and a half, so do keep that in mind.  I know the coins are sometimes difficult for some newly introduced gifted to see as ‘real’ money, but I implore you to remember that the lack of crisp paper bills does _not_ mean the coins aren’t roughly the same!  For instance, holding just four galleons in your pocket is the equivalent of four twenty pound notes!”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”  Heather said as she and Harry shared a look.

Heather had a whole _notebook_ full of ideas on how to expand their inheritance.  Once she got a grip on how the twins stood on financial matters in the gifted world, she was going to send Gramps some suggestions for their little bank account. 

She wanted to have a much better idea of how things worked on the gifted side, in terms of money or supplies, before she committed their bank account money to long-term, high-yield investments.  She wouldn’t tie up _all_ their no-strings-attached money, of course, but she wasn’t just going to let it sit idle either!

Heather had contingency plans to put into motion, dammit! 

“Ok.  Next question.  What should we buy in Diagon Alley and what can we buy in London?  Like pens and notebooks and such.”  Heather asked, intensely curious as to the answer.

“Quills or the more expensive fountain-style pens, and relatively heavy parchment are used for a reason, dear.”  Connie told them with a small, amused grin playing about her lips.  “I’m afraid that using normal things- such as lead pencils, ballpoint pens, or notebook paper- would not be plausible for you to use for your schoolwork.  While you could likely get by with some of the more expensive papers and a nice, gifted-made pen for your notes, I’m afraid this is one of those things that seemed illogical at first glance, but has good reason for still being in practice.”

“It has something to do with our magic, doesn’t it?”  Harry said more than asked.

Her baby was _so_ smart!

“Indeed it does.  Using quills- which are made from animal feathers and treated in special potions- and heavy parchment allows the writer’s magic to, naturally, blend into the ink.  Creating a unique imprint that holds better in thicker, treated parchment.  You’ll learn more about this at school, of course, but the simplest explanation is that the magic the writer leaves behind- in the ink, which then bonds with the parchment, especially when spelled dry by the writer- is what a spell latches onto.”  Connie took out her pen and a small scrap of parchment.  “Heather dear, please give me a word that you have written down there.”

“Uhh….money?”  Heather said, caught somewhat off-guard.

Connie merely nodded and used the arm of her bench as a makeshift writing desk.  Once she was finished her pen disappeared back into her purse and she handed Harry the scrap of parchment. 

“Now, I am going to use a very simple word search spell, one that most First Year students are taught.  Observe.”  Connie waved her wand a few times and about a second later the word she had written on the parchment glowed brightly while the magic of the spell just washed over Heather’s notepad, inert.  “As you can see, the spell found the word written with my pen, while the words written on your notepad were ignored.”

“Huh.  Neat.”  Was the twins’ general consensus, Harry pouting a little when the word on his scrap of parchment died back down to a normal, flat black.  “I take it you mentioned notebooks with thicker paper for stuff like notes?”

“Indeed.  It would need to be fairly high quality, much like a sketchbook.  I’m afraid mass-produced notebook paper and the like are far too thin and….processed, to hold onto magic.”  Connie winked at Heather.  “But, if it wouldn’t stress your resources, I can show you a place to buy a few pens so you needn’t bother with quills.  Many people like quills well enough, but I find the grips on the pens to be easier on my hands.  And the ink cartridges the pens require are much tidier, in my humble opinion.” Connie’s grin turned a bit sharper.  “And the pens are made much the same way as a wand, though not nearly as precise, of course.  But using one or two of them exclusively imbeds your magical signature into it quite firmly, which drastically increases the…hm, _imprint_ you leave behind.  Makes it much more difficult for someone to try and forge your script, even if they use your pen.”

“Duly noted.”  Heather muttered as she scribbled down notes

Helpful information, that.

They had to stop there, as the train had arrived at the station.

It didn’t take them long to find a taxi and so they were headed towards _The Leaky Cauldron_.

Heather and Harry spent most of the time gawking, honestly. 

They had been to London a fair few times with their tennis team or for school, or just on day trips with the Pritchards, but London was _huge_ , and there was plenty of things that were interesting to them.

Connie actually knew quite a few tidbits about London, and the cabbie laughed several times at her anecdotes.

Before Heather knew it, they were there.

Well, close.

“I’m going to place a charm on the two of you that will suggest that you aren’t worth a second glance.”  Connie smiled sympathetically at Harry.  “I’m afraid you’re rather well known, Harry, and I’d rather it not take a full fortnight to get into the shopping area.”

“I wholeheartedly agree, Madam Connie.”  Harry told the woman with a rueful grin.  “We tried to dress a little less like twins because the Headmaster’s letter he left with Aunt Petunia mentioned something like that.”

Connie frowned for a moment, her lips tugging downwards and her forehead creasing in displeasure before she smoothed out her expression and smiled.  “That was very thoughtful of you, dears.”

They walked another block to the pub- which was just as dingy and dismal on the inside as Heather had imagined it to be, though Tom the Bartender had seemed cheerful enough- quickly, and in short order Connie had led them to the brick wall with the lone trashcan next to it.

Heather was amazed by the brick wall parting like a curtain and revealing the quaint little shopping district.  It was amazing, and maybe for the first time Heather truly appreciated the reality bending abilities of having _magic_.  There was no film crew or fancy computer editing, Connie had caused a brick wall to fold in on itself, neatly creating a doorway with a few light taps from a _wooden stick_.

But the best part was Harry’s excited face.

His cheeks were adorably flushed under his tan, and his eyes were extra wide.  His lips were pulled into a silent ‘o’ as he just stood there and _stared_.

It was one of the most beautiful things Heather had ever seen.

There was a pang in her heart, though.  Because they weren’t just entering a new world, they were starting a new chapter in their lives.   And Harry- well, her baby was going to make friends.  The _best_ kind of friends, and while she would always be his sister, he wouldn’t really _need_ her anymore.

For the briefest of moments, Heather wished that they had been born normal, in a world without magic.

It was a shitty thing to think, she knew and she firmly quashed the thought. 

Heather was happy Harry would meet the sorts of friends that would stand on a broken leg to protect him from a crazy convict or feed an abusive teacher to centaurs for him.

She _was_.

She had lamented their lack of friends their entire childhood.  They had been friendly enough with classmates or fellow tennis players, but they had always been a bit different.  A bit odd, and so they had only really ever had each other, as peers.

Heather blinked back the tears, chiding herself for even thinking such depressing things when she had so many other things to do. 

When Harry was so close to everything she had ever wanted for him.

She just hadn’t realized the moment of truth would hurt quite this much.

‘ _Stop that_.’ She told herself firmly as Connie ushered them through and the wall knit itself back together behind them.  ‘ _You still have work to do.  He’s not free to live the life he deserves just yet.  You’ll have plenty of time to ponder your lonely existence later.’_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

The first thing that came to mind when Heather looked around the Alley was a fish market.

There were stores, of course.  Mostly buildings made of dark wood, with thick panes of frosted glass, and elegant writing etched onto boards that swung lightly in the midsummer breeze.  The stores seemed to come in square, triangular, and octagon, with small spaces in between that were filled with what could only be termed as hot-dog-stand styled mini stores.

Complete with people haggling loudly, which was where the fish market comparison came from.

The adorably old-fashioned cobblestones beneath her shoes were somehow cool, and it had to be at least ten degrees cooler than it had been back in London proper.

Stepping out from the wall, there was a sort of square directly out into the middle, and then two lanes of stores that surrounded them.  The colors of the cobblestones were mostly a worn, tanned brown, but there were foot-wide sections that branched off in three different colors- _“Red for Vertick; blue for Horizont; and then that orange-gold will lead you to for Whimsic._ ” –and even from the entrance, Heather could see the pristine white what she assumed was Gringotts Bank shining near the end of the lengthy rows of businesses.

The twins didn’t manage to look too closely at anything, as Connie efficiently hustled them through the crowds and towards the end of the street.

Gringotts Bank was truly an amazing sight to behold.

It reminded Heather of the majesty of Erebor, from the _Hobbit_ movies, honestly.  Stone, gems, and metals masterfully blended into something that seemed to be a little too otherworldly to actually exist.

‘ _I wonder if Tolkien ever caught a glimpse of this place._ ’  Heather thought with a smile. 

Sadly, while many things were the same here as they were in her memories of Before, this world lacked the amazing works of JRR Tolkien, something that made Heather incredibly upset.

Perhaps he had been a wizard?  That thought perked her up a bit!

But the detail, the intricate inset of the innumerable precious gems, and the thick veins of gold that seemed to flow like rivers against the pristine white of the stone was incredible.

“Would it be rude of me to mention that I think their artistry is unparalleled?”  Heather asked Connie, somewhat breathless.  “The attention to detail and the skilled precision it must have taken to build this is…..stunning.”  She craned her head back trying to see more of the amazing building. 

Unfortunately, they had been closer to the guards than she had realized.

“Hmpf.”  The heavily armored guard to Heather’s left grunted.  His voice was nearly guttural; low and rough. 

“Everyone likes to hear sincere compliments, dear.”  Connie told her gently as she led them through the doors. 

The inside, past the poem engraved into the interior doorway, was much like the inside of a grand cathedral.  Instead of pews, the middle of the grand room was open, while off to the sides, on raised platforms were dozens of other Stonebloods, weighing and inspecting gems and such, a lot like the _Hobbit_ movies had pictured Erebor in its prime. 

She could just picture noble Balin sitting in front of a set of scales, weighing a tribute to his King.  Or gentle Bifur making intricate toys somewhere in the depths of the Bank.  Perhaps the sons of Dís would ditch their paperwork to race the mining carts; forcing grumpy, loyal Dwalin to hunt them down and return them?

Heather forced herself to focus.

The six raised, narrow rows of the upper gallery- above the two lower ones, which seemed to be stacked nearly on top of one another not _too_ far off the ground- seemed to be made of solid stone.  However, there were other, smaller Stonebloods running about, walking through the solid lines of stone as if the stone was made of nothing but air.  Where they went after walking through what logic would dictate as the wall to the outside of the Bank, Heather had no idea.  But she assumed that magic was involved, if only for the lack of Stonebloods plunging to their deaths off to the side of the entrance of the Bank.

‘ _Amazing_.’  Heather thought in admiration as Connie shepherded them forward, very few other people being in the grand room and thus, Heather’s gawking drawing attention.

The two lowest gallery rows seemed made to interact with the public. Though even the lowest one put the humans using them at a height disadvantage, which seemed to be a bit petty and spiteful. 

It amused Heather greatly. 

The lowest row had teller stations- at least Heather assumed the neatly latticed windows were teller stations- about every fifth Stoneblood.  The row just above that Heather guessed was probably for slightly more important, but not quite management-level, Stonebloods. 

There was a kiosk sort of thing, with three Stonebloods manning it, at the far end of the grand room, straight out from the entrance.  It reminded Heather of a judge’s panel, really, with the one in the center clearly being someone of importance, given that he was slightly apart and sat higher than the other two.

All the signs were in Latin, which sort of sucked.

Only sort of, because Heather had gotten a somewhat general grasp of the language from long days spent with Kris, but Latin had more than one dialect and Heather was _far_ from fluent in any of them.

“To the right is the currency exchange station, to the left is the new accounts desk, and the Stoneblood in the middle is the High Teller, who we need to speak to.”  Connie whispered to them before she strode up to the desk, lightly inclined her head towards the Stoneblood, and then informed him.  “I have new students who received their Letter.  They will require their Trust keys.”  Connie gave the Stoneblood a meaningful look.  “Discretion would be appreciated.”

“Very well.”  The Stoneblood said, his keen eyes raking over the twins quickly, before he met Connie’s gaze evenly.  “You will not be allowed to accompany them.”

“I am aware, High Teller.”  Connie said with a smile, her tense frame relaxing a bit.  “I will be more than happy to read my book in your comfortable waiting area and await their return.”

The Stoneblood nodded boredly, made a few sounds Heather had no hope of translating, and then Connie pulled them to the side.

“The Stoneblood are very busy, and their motto is very much ‘time is money’.”  She told them quickly.  “Heather, dear, take your hat off once you get into whatever meeting room, or it’ll be considered rude.  Be polite and everything should be fine.”

A voice pointedly cleared its throat behind them.  “All true statements, Intermediary. This way.  Please.”

Then Connie was gently pushing them forwards and before Heather knew it she was following one of the little guys through a previously unseen door.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

The hallways they were led down were rather tame compared to the show of wealth they had seen before, but the tapestries that hung along them were still distracting. 

Not that Heather would have tried to count turns or anything.  She had about zero sense of direction, and generally did better with landmarks, anyways.

Their guide said nothing, and Heather had snuck her hand into Harry’s at some point without her noticing.

Eventually, he- well, she _thought_ he was a he- made an abrupt turn, and before they knew it they were inside a rather tidy little office.  It had all the classics- a desk piled with parchment and books, bookshelves, a few chairs, an overabundance of burgundy- and the fireplace with the battleaxes crossed above them was just cliché.

“Sit.”  Their guide barked out, gesturing them inside with a curt motion.

Heather had stopped at the doorway, blatantly gawking _again_ , and since she still held his hand in a deathgrip, Harry had stopped as well.

_Oops_.

The twins quickly took their seats, Heather removing her hat and placing it on the back of the high-backed chair and setting her satchel across her lap.

“The Keeper will be with you shortly.”  Their guide informed them shortly, before leaving and snapping the door shut behind him.

“Well.”  Harry said a bit wryly.  “That was interesting.”

A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled out of Heather’s mouth, and her fingers trembled lightly as she worried the fabric of her satchel.  “Y-yeah.”

Further conversation was cut short when the door opened once again, and a slightly short Stoneblood, with stylishly curled white hair and a monocle attached to his left eye, came bustling in. 

“I am Keeper Sharpshard.  Who are the two of you professing to be?”  He asked briskly, giving them a gimlet glare.

“I am Heather Potter, and this is my twin brother, Harry Potter.”  Heather managed to say in an even voice.

“We shall see.”  Was all the Keeper said before he walked over to the far wall and seemed to disappear through yet another camouflaged door.

Seriously?  What the _hell_ was with all the hidden doors!

“It is my duty to inform you.”  He stated dispassionately as he came back into the room, holding a shallow bowl and several other items.  He waved a hand and two small tables popped into existence in front of the twins, startling them slightly.  The Keeper paid no mind and in short order there were several things set down in front of them, including two an ancient looking quills apiece, a few pieces of some pretty fancy parchment, and a small glass phial full of a swirling grey liquid.  “That if you are not who you claim to be, this will not end well.  If you are being coerced, you have the option to request asylum, and Gringotts Bank will contact the International Confederation of Wizards’ Investigation Division on your behalf, with no penalty levied against you by Gringotts Bank.”

There were several moments of silence, as he held the shallow, pearlescent bowl in his hands and gave each twin a long, penetrating stare.

Heather couldn’t have spoken if she’d tried.  Her nerves were all tangled up in knots and she felt like she could feel each individual heartbeat inside her chest.  Her breathing was even only because she didn’t want the Stoneblood to think she was lying to him, but she would rather be back at _Number Four_ than right here. 

She _hated_ feeling ill-prepared!  Why hadn’t she pressed Petunia for more information or tried to contact Connie herself?  Why had she waited?  Why was she so _stupid_?

“We, Gringotts Bank, have determined that you are under no currently known potions, spells, or other means of physical, mental, or emotional manipulation.”  He continued almost boredly, an insult to Heather’s internal anxiety-fest. “Your continued insistence that you are Heather Potter and Harry Potter, children of the late Lord James and Lady Lily Potter, is therefore under your own, free will.  And as such you will be subject to the full extent of the law should you prove to be thieves.”  The smile he gave them was nearly lipless, all sharp, serrated, bleached teeth.  “Now, which of you is the eldest?” 

“According to our maternal aunt, who raised us, I am.”  Heather managed around her growing sense of doom and foreboding. 

The Keeper nodded and set the bowl down in front of her.  “With the black quill, write your name on the topmost parchment- your full name, as you know it- and then place it facedown in the bowl.  Then you will drink this potion-“  He tapped the smoky phial with a claw-tipped finger.  “-and write your name once again, on the bottom parchment, and place that into the bowl as well, only facing upwards.” 

Heather nodded to show she understood.  “Shall I?”

“Yes.” He said, rather grumpily.

Heather had always been told her middle name was Lillian, so that was what she wrote.

_‘Amazing how a nice, long draught of nearly crippling anxiety could make you question your own name.’_   She thought rather caustically.

The potion tasted sharp, like antiseptic, but she managed it.

Once both pieces of parchment were placed in the bowl she looked up at the Keeper expectantly.

The Keeper stared intently at the bowl for a long heartbeat. 

One that seemed to last a small ice age to the highly aggravated and equally anxious Heather.

_‘It is fairly elaborate, so maybe the things I just thought were pretty veins were actually words?  Or maybe it was enchanted or something?’_ Heather thought rather desperately, trying to contain her severe case of nervousness.

Apparently satisfied with whatever he saw, he nodded and withdrew a wicked looking knife- about the size of a butter knife- from his belt and held it out to her.  “Prick your finger with this, once it has gathered enough blood, I will take it.  The rest of verification involves magic exclusive to Gringotts Bank and cannot be witnessed by non-authorized personnel.” He glared rather ferociously at Heather.  “Gringotts Bank is the premier expert of identification magics, and we take our client’s account security seriously.  As such the disposal of the blood and parchments will be executed in front of you, should you prove to be Heather Potter.  Should you prove to be lying, they will be used against you before the Gringotts Council.”  The little being sighed softly when Heather merely nodded in agreement.  “The final piece of I require is your Letter.”

“Ok.”  Heather managed, sounding much braver than she felt.  She dug into her satchel, suddenly, intensely thankful she had put their Letters in the front zipper part for easy access and passed Harry his before handing the Keeper hers.  Then she placed the offered knife against her skin and closed her eyes.

Surprisingly, it felt much like a poke from the dentist after the anesthetic took effect.

Quickly enough the knife was whisked away, along with the bowl, and the Keeper disappeared behind the invisible door.

“Did it hurt?”  Harry asked her as soon as the door closed behind the Keeper, grabbing her hand and eying the small cut balefully.

It was already healing.  Rather weird to see it sealing up before her eyes, but she was grateful.  She didn’t want to get blood on her skirt.

“Not really.”  Heather answered him honestly; her anxiety kicking into overdrive the longer the Keeper was gone.

“Hey!”  Suddenly Harry’s hands were pressed firmly against her face, forcing her to look at him.  “Heather-feather, _calm_ _down_.”

“Ok.”  She half-whispered, dragging in strangely heavy pulls of air.  “ _Ok_.”

Harry smiled at her, but before anything else could be said the Keeper came back in, bearing the bowl, her Letter, and a small box.

“Congratulations, Miss Potter.”  He drawled somewhat dryly as he set the bowl down in front of her.  “Here is your Letter, your Trust key, and your Heiress ring.”

He snapped his fingers and a white fire erupted in the bowl, quickly burning away the remaining blood from the knife and the remains of the two parchments.

Heather blinked rather stupidly, but managed to stamp down the need to ask a billion questions.  “Does my putting on the ring mean anything important for our financial matters?  And if it is too involved for a concise answer, may I request that you direct me towards some information materials?” She managed to ask somewhat smoothly, as she took the shiny, elaborate, old-style key laying in the bowl, her Letter, and the shiny box.

The grin the Keeper shot her was sly.  “I could set up an appointment with the Potter Manager, if you would like.  Though your ring’s placement does not matter, only the fact you can wear it.”

“Please do.”  Heather replied, taking the polished- was it made out of stone?- box with some trepidation. “My brother and I will be staying at the Singing Siren until Hogwarts begins.”  She glanced up at the still shrewdly grinning Stoneblood.  “Would Gringotts prefer for us to inform them of our room numbers?”

“Unless you wish for an unruly mob of wizards to follow you about, I would suggest such a thing.”  He bit out rather grumpily as he whisked the bowl away, and disappeared off into the hidden door.

“Open it!”  Harry urged her with a bright grin.  “My Lady.”  He added playfully, knocking their shoulders together.

Heather laughed a little, much more settled now, and opened the box.

The ring was gorgeous.  Obviously well-crafted and-

Well, _that_ was interesting.

She could feel magic of the ring- she’d been able to tune out the abundance of magic all around her as white noise mostly- reaching for her.  And that would have been concerning, but she _recognized_ the magic.

_Because she had it too._

It was that joyful feeling in her magic, the part that made it feel like she was part of a bubbly stream that wore smooth the stones and had children splash along her shores during the hot days of summer.  It was laughter and light and her brother and her huddled around the fireplace with hot chocolate and Nana Anna laughing at their foam mustaches and nights with her husband and her cats waking her in the morning with kisses and whiskers-

Heather hadn’t even realized she had started crying until Harry was in front of her, wiping her tears away with the hem of his shirt and staring at her in concern.  “Heather-feather?”

“I’m fine.”  She told him, her words thick and her heart a strange mix of exultant and devastated.  “Really.”  She tried again after he gave her an entirely unimpressed look.  “Truly, Har-bear.  It just…it feels like _home_.”

Harry’s brow furrowed as he glanced down to the ring in the box and back to her face.  “What?  I mean, I can feel something sort of tugging at me, but-“

“Remarkable.”  The Keeper’s voice startled both of them, Harry pressing closer to her and glaring at the short being.  “It has been nearly a hundred years since I have witnessed such an intuitive reaction from an heir.”  He finally looked at her with something other than slyness or boredom, but it only lasted a moment and then he was scowling at Harry.  “Sit.  Your verification will not take as long as your sister’s.”

Heather smiled at Harry earnestly, and though he looked like he wanted to protest, he sat down and quickly went through the process.

By the time the Keeper disappeared again, Heather had slipped the ring onto the middle finger of her left hand.

Both twins watched, entranced, as the ring shifted, the thick band slimming down to something far more to Heather’s taste. 

“I wonder what the animals are?’”  Harry said curiously as he held her hand and squinted at the ring.  “They look kind of like cats.  With wings.  And there are swords, too, which is pretty brilliant.”

“We’ll have to find out.”  Heather told him warmly, still sort of dazed from her experience with the ring.

Soon, the Keeper came back with Harry’s key, repeated the white fire thing in the bowl, told them to leave a note about their accommodations with one of the teller’s and kicked them out of the room.

Once back in the hall, another Stoneblood melted out of the woodwork.  “This way.”  He said shortly.

The further they traveled, Heather having grabbed onto Harry’s hand again, the less ornate and more….earthy, the scenery became.  Finally they reached a ledge in a cavernous room and the guide let out a sharp whistle.

Heather climbed into the rickety looking mining cart, that was on an equally rickety looking rail system, and promptly buried her face into Harry’ shirt.

She appreciated the strangely clean, earthy smell of the air as it went whipping past them, she just didn’t appreciate the view.

Nor did Heather appreciate the sudden stop.

_‘We can’t stop, we’ve got to slow down first!’_ Ran through her mind as the guide ordered Harry to stay and Heather rather drunkenly climbed out.

“Um, can he come if I give permission or is that against bank policy?”  She asked their guide as she handed over her key without asking.

He gave her a long, considering look before he shrugged, unconcerned.  “Permission, once given, cannot be changed.”

“He’s my twin, and my partner in crime.  I give Harry Potter permission to enter my vault.”  Heather said, feeling a bit silly but wanting to be thorough.

“Very well then.  You may approach, Mr. Potter.”  The guide informed them, before pointing to a line carved into the stone.  “Stay behind that line if you wish to live.”

The twins did, though the billowing green smoke and the dramatic opening of the stone door was rather amusing, as opposed to inspiring.  Heather could see why Gringotts would be a pain to rob, though.  The entire cavern seemed to be solid stone, just with intricate artwork engraved along its face.  It would be _impossible_ to tell where the vault doors were, let alone the vault numbers!

Though once their guide did some chanting and some green smoke billowed out from the now open door, the number on her key appeared above the door and on the outside of the door itself.  The number on her key read ‘Vault 689’, while Harry’s read ‘Vault 687’.  Truthfully, she didn’t remember if that was the same as his vault had been in the books or not.

“Vault 689.”  The guide informed them, stepping back and turning his back to the vault, just short of the line he had pointed out to Heather.  “Will you be requiring a coin purse today?  Gringotts offers a standard, deluxe, and premium purse at a slight discount to first time visitors. ”

“Would I be correct to assume these purses are well guarded against thievery?”  Heather aske rather wryly as she boggled at the mountain- literally!- of gold inside the vault.  Along with a tower of silver and a sea of knuts.

This was all _hers_?

_Holy_ _shit_.

“Correct.”  The guide seemed to be amused somehow.  “The premium is the recommended, of course, with its enchantments guaranteed for a duration of at least ten years and can hold upwards of a thousand galleons, twice as many sickles, and three times as many knuts.  It costs seven galleons.  The currencies are divided into separate sections for ease of access.” 

‘ _Worth_ _it_.’  Heather thought as she did the mental math. 

“I’ll take one, and I’d like to pre-purchase my brother one as well.”  Heather informed the guide cheerfully, swinging around to face him and ignoring Harry’s spluttering.  “Do I need to bring you the coins?”

The guide shook his head negatively as he produced to small, velvet checkbook looking things.  They really did look a bit like a high-end checkbook or wallet, really, just with an elaborate silver clasp at the top.  “The amount will be deducted from your vault shortly.  Please press your hand against the clasp.”

Heather did, the guide waved his long fingers over her hand and the checkbook looking thing, muttering in that same language she had no hope of deciphering.  After a moment, she could a strange shower of magic wash over her and attached itself to the item. 

‘ _Strange, but neat_.’  She thought as she made her way into the cavernous room.

She counted ten galleons and measured the distance with her fingers.  Then she went over to one of the shorter piles and marked out sections of ten until she couldn’t reach any higher.

Then she felt sort of stupid.

“I, am an _idiot_.”  She announced drolly, a little chagrined, just as Harry came to join her.

Her brother just gave her an incredulous look, assessed the situation, and then laughed at her.

She pushed him into a pile of galleons.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

The twins were given a packet of information by a newly arrived Stoneblood, which Heather hastily stuffed in her bag, just before they were led out into the foyer to meet up with Connie.

“Ready, dears?”  She asked with a smile, closing her book and placing it back into her purse.  “The first stop will be to get you a trunk.” 

The woman wove them through the crowd, Heather having retrieved her hat from her satchel after they were all outside Gringotts.  The street was a bit busier, but as they entered a store just a few shops down from the Bank, Heather didn’t get to look around _all_ that much.

**\---XXX---**

Heather wasn’t much of a shopper.  She liked to get in, get what she needed, and get the hell out.  Bookstores or those eclectic, small time stores could hold her attention a bit longer, but even then she wasn’t a truly dedicated shopper.

Efficiency was her dearest friend in matters of shopping.

At the trunk store, she and Harry had gotten matching trunks made out of reddish wood.  She’d forgotten the name.  It looked like cherry wood, but it was basically a gifted version of the common tree.

The trunks came with decent security- they had the step-by-step instructions for after they purchased their wands to add the finishing touches- but it definitely wasn’t impenetrable.  The trunks were about as tall as Heather- came up to about her armpit, actually- and held three compartments.  The first was sort of a walk-in wardrobe which was about the size of their old room back at the Pritchards’ house, and had shelves, a closet, and some magically expanded drawers, for storage.  The second a compartment smaller- perhaps the size of their room at Number Four- and had built-in bookshelves all along the walls. The third compartment was about the size of a normal trunk, but made to store personal effects and the most protected.

The storekeeper had needed to do some things with their hair- while Connie gave him the stink eye and fingered her wand suspiciously casually, which had made the twins feel amused.  They had been taken into a workroom to watch him inlay the trunks with the specialized enchantments.  But, even though it cost upwards of twenty galleons- five hundred pounds, which made Heather’s inner cheapskate wince- Heather felt they were a good investment. 

Especially given the ‘standard’ trunks.  They were a little bigger on the inside- maybe double the normal interior- but they didn’t have any security enchantments, wand-tap shrinking, _or_ the weight suspension enchantments.

What was the point of having magic if you didn’t use it?  Granted, Heather liked to think that she and Harry were a tad more mature and prone to treat their belongings with a bit more care than the average ten-year-olds, so she could see why not all parents would want to spring for an advanced trunk if they thought their child might not take care of it properly.

But, well, the twins didn’t have to pence-pinch on this expedition.  And they took care of their stuff.

Now, they weren’t going to get a solid gold cauldron or the most expensive robes or anything crazy like that; but since they had the cash to spare, they might as well invest in things that would last them- comfortably- all seven years.

“Now, I’m going to show you the way to the Singing Siren, where we’ll have lunch, and then we’ll get your wands.”  Connie told them as they stepped back out into the sunshine.  “I’m afraid that you’ll have to finish your shopping on your own time.”  She threw them a warm smile.  “But, as you have a list, a map, and almost two full months, I have faith that you’ll manage.”

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Constance Rausch had been an Intermediary for nearly forty years and she could honestly say that she had never encountered any child quite like Heather Potter.

After that first meeting all those years ago, Connie had kept a discreet eye on the twins.  And, given the Supreme Mugwump’s apparent conflict of interest- as he had told the British Wizengamot of his personal involvement in placing the twins at their childhood residence- her superior had agreed to keep the case quiet, once she had read him in.

Truthfully, it was a bit of a fluke that Connie had gotten the case, as she was much higher in the chain of command than a common field agent.  She wasn’t sure if it was magic or just good luck but the fact that it had been _her_ had allowed for a bit more leeway and the influence to sway a supervisor to keep the information from the General Assembly’s ‘public’ records.

Heather had been mature in manner and speech since Connie had first met her.  The girl had obviously been the mature one, even if she had allowed her aunt to pretend otherwise, but Connie sensed no malice from the girl. 

The Intermediary had met a host of abused children over the years, and she wished that just half of them turned out as well as Heather.

When Ollivander told Heather’s brother about his new wand’s connection to Britain’s late Dark Lord, Heather bodily stepped in front of Harry, threw her arms out as if to shield him, and glared murder at the old wandmaker.

“My brother is powerful, that much I agree with, Mr. Ollivander.  But he is in no way like that _fiend_.”  Connie watched as the boy dug his fingers into the cloth of his sister’s dress and hid his face in the spot between her shoulder blades. “My brother is kind and brave and caring and a _hundred times the man that the boy who grew up to be Voldemort ever could have been_.  And I would _appreciate_ it if you would not imply otherwise.”

“O-of course, dear girl.”  The old man said peering at the girl intently.  “I only meant that the wand is meant for greatness.”

“And my brother is already great.”  Heather refuted firmly.  Steadfast in her conviction.  “He just needs to grow into his full potential.”  She flashed a smile that was full of teeth.  “And a man who can control his tongue, controls his whole body.”

The old wandmaker sort of half-smiled before he nodded in acquiescence.  “I apologize, young man.  I see that you need no reminders that power is a terrible burden.”

Harry peeked over his sister’s shoulder and smiled at the man.  “It’s alright.  I-I think I get it.”  Harry smiled a little wider at the man.  “Heather-feather’s always told me that the true measure of power is how you treat someone who can do nothing for you.”

Connie noted that his fingers stayed tangled in his sister’s dress.  She didn’t really blame him.  Heather Potter seemed like a Valkyrie come to defend the souls of the righteous, her magic coiling around her and ready to defend what was hers even beyond her dying breath.

Ollivander could apparently see the spirit of the girl’s late mother in Heather as well, because the rest of the tension and apprehension drained from his eyes and he smiled at them.  “That is a wonderful rule to live by, young man.”  He turned his gaze back to Heather, who had finally lowered her arms, but was still glaring.  “Now, let’s get you sorted my dear.”

Heather nodded, as regal as a queen, and Connie was rather amused that the girl’s glare didn’t really lessen.

When the girl bonded with her wand, the whole shop seemed to sing.

“Birch and braided Unicorn hair.  Twelve inches, precisely.”  The wandmaker murmured contemplatively. 

Heather nodded primly, looking over her new wand with appreciation and awe.  “I don’t suppose you have wand holsters?  Or wand cleaning kits?  I don’t want my new….. comrade to get damaged”

The wandmaker nearly lit up.  “Of course!”

After they had gotten holsters, polish kits, and a few other necessities, Connie walked them back to the Siren.  She left the twins at their room, nodded at the Enforcer that would be watching over them as a favor to her department- mostly by tagging them with subtlety charms, she had explained to Heather quietly- and briskly moved through the early evening crowds.

As she walked, Connie wondered what sort of chaos the Potter twins would cause the gifted of the Isles.  She kind of couldn’t wait to see it.  They were in need of a socio-economic shakeup.

Connie smiled a little sharply as she headed towards the portkey Departure Point.  She had seen the packet Heather had gotten from the Stoneblood Nation, and she firmly believed that the girl was worth the favor she had called in on the twins’ behalf.

_‘Give them hell, dear.’_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

The twins had dropped by Gringotts with their room number, and they had asked Connie a plethora of questions over their late lunch, but by the time they came back from getting their wands Heather was _exhausted_.

The Singing Siren was quite fond of purple, blue, and white, and the beds were four poster monstrosities that looked positively _sinful_.  The twins had checked the bathroom, and the elegant taps- there were ten of them!- were nearly begging for Heather to try them.  The twins were rather freaked out by the talking mirrors, so they covered them or turned them towards the wall, but their suite also held a laundry chute and a common room.

There were two bedrooms of course, but the twins had set up shop in one of them.  It seemed odd, the idea of sleeping in separate rooms, and they both agreed they weren’t really looking forward to that part of Hogwarts.

Harry ran down and got them some supper, and they both fell asleep, still in their clothes.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed this~!
> 
> After this, the chapters will be the same as over on FFnet. I bulk posted these because I was too lazy to cut them into chapters like I did over there.
> 
> I might go back and fix these later~!


	4. Alterations Arc Part II

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather turned her wand over carefully, applying the polish just as Ollivander had instructed.

It was….truly unique. Holding a wand. 

She could feel magic.  Even if the magic of the Alley just sort of buzzed in the background, as opposed to magic being cast on her directly.  Well, she supposed the magic Connie had cast was mostly indirect, so maybe it was just magic that targeted her, specifically?

Something to ponder.

At any rate, her wand was light colored.  White in certain light, but tan or even grey in others.  The grain swirled, and it felt somehow warm and excited in her hand.

‘ _Tennis has its uses, I suppose_.’  She thought as she held the piece of wood and twirled it in nonsensical patterns.  The grip she had long used on her racket making the small piece of wood settle comfortably in against her palm.

The wand holster she had purchased was a thin band of silver and dragonhide around her right thumb and a thicker band of padded laced dragonhide around the middle of her upper arm.  It was apparently an older style, but Heather like the idea of her wand being stored a little higher than most would think to look.  She wasn’t sure on the specifics, but the wand rested in the holster on her upper arm, but she called it into existence by tapping the band on her thumb.  According to Connie it was much easier for beginners to catch their wand with this style, and even if she lost the thumb band, she would still have her wand in the holster on her arm, as the thumb band was just a quick access mechanism, not the actual storage container.

Heather _liked_ contingency plans.

With an entirely unnecessary flourish, her wand touched the pseudo-ring and disappeared back into her holster.

Heather glared at the elephant in the room.

Namely the packet of information given to her at Gringotts, a few books Connie mysteriously happened to have that the woman ‘thought you might like’.

Heather had been unable to rest long, despite yesterday’s exhaustion.  She had awoken suddenly, vaulted into full consciousness in that adrenaline-inducing way that spelled failure for any continued attempts to rest, despite her body’s weariness.  She had dragged herself out of bed and to the loo, and then to the table, where she had cracked open the nearest of the stacked books and began to read.

She had filled in at least two pages with her own personal style of notetaking- lots of spirals, dashes, upside down mirrored sentences, bits of inside-joke worthy stop-gaps, and other quirkiness that really only made sense to her or Harry- before she’d even gotten partway through with that first book.

Heather had also learned a great deal of context concerning magical inheritance procedures and how heavily influenced they had been by early society. 

Namely, she had learned why she was the Heiress Potter instead of being passed over in favor of Harry. 

Technically, as far as magic was concerned, Heather had been Lady Potter since the night her parents died. 

While the patriarchy was strong in the wizarding world- absolutely _zero_ question about that, actually- the Isles also had a plethora of unique peoples who had influenced their history and, subsequently, their attitudes towards inheritance.  Towards that end, the Potter family, specifically, had long respected the right of birth.  And thus the eldest child of the current Lord- born of his Lady wife- was automatically named the Heir.

If Heather decided to abdicate her Heir position to Harry, her name would change.  She would be forced to choose a- preferably defunct- matrilineal name that had married into the Potter family and take it as her own, in order to prevent any succession crises from arising later.  Likewise, if Harry had been born first and abdicated to her, he would have been forced to choose a patrilineal name for himself.  Either way they would be ‘Potter-x’, but it wouldn’t pass to their children, only their ‘new’ name.  They’d still all be considered members of the Potter family, of course, just not Heirs.

However, according to Connie’s neatly outlined notes slipped in between the pages of the book, the laws concerning inheritance and the Age of Ascension grew murky and unpredictable. 

Largely due to the fact that the Isles had not had a properly recognized Sovereign since _before_ the Romans had rolled up into Britannia and done their whole ‘spreading the love’ thing. To make things even _more_ exhilarating and befuddling, there was also the fact that the Isles had been sharply divided by Hadrian’s Wall during that time, with the remnants of the royal houses on both sides of the Wall squabbling over power and trying to fend off angry neighbors, Vikings, Roman Sorcerers, and other historical baddies.

The collapse of the Roman Empire _should_ have meant the return of the Sovereign, and the reunification of the magical nations of the Isles.  But, by then, the any legitimate heirs of any magical royal house had long since been killed off- conspiracy, much?- and the magical communities were already disappearing off into the recesses of history.  Most of the original vassal houses had long since married into more modern lines, and the many scattered ‘mini’ nations of the Isles had only very- extremely- reluctantly come together to form a very loose government- which would collapse shortly thereafter- around the time Hogwarts had been founded.

The modern incarnation of the Wizengamot had far less official authority than what a nonmagical student like Heather would automatically assume.  The Old Houses had entitlements that stretched back into antiquity, and they had surrendered only a nominal portion of them when the Wizengamot formed.  Truthfully, the majority of the Wizengamot’s power came from the Statute, the rise of the middle class, non-gentry wizard, the ICW, and surprisingly enough- the rapid expansion of nonmagical society.  Without those checks and balances, the Old Houses wouldn’t even need to _pretend_ to be beholden to the laws.

Lookin’ at _you_ , Lucius Malfoy.

Heather still had no idea how that tied into her parent’s Will, which had been sealed by the Wizengamot mere hours after she and Harry had been left at the Dursley house.  Connie had been as professional as ever, but the emphatic notes of how _unprecedented and inappropriate_ such a thing was, were quite poignant.  Additionally, the records of that particular session had been sealed- another red flag or ten- and so Connie had been unable to find any further answers, despite her authority, connections, and dedicated research.

What _should_ have happened was for a Regent to be named- traditionally, the Guardian appointed in her parents’ Will- and for them to take up the Potter responsibilities until Heather was ready to step up on her own. 

The Stoneblood Exception, come to find out, had been implemented after a disgruntled bastard wizard in the eighteenth century attempted to take over a handful of Old Families via a judicious application of blackmail and assassination.  The Exception was tied to the individual needing a Letter to present to Gringotts, more for the wizards to feel still in control of the situation and for them to firmly keep ‘squibs’ from possibly inheriting. 

And it just got more confusing, the more she read.

The financial and Wizengamot inheritance laws were separate and nearly _entirely_ different.  She could take up her families’ properties and financial ventures as soon as her ring accepted her, but by the laws of the Wizengamot she was still considered a child.  The rings held a lot of weight and Heather couldn’t figure out the _why_ until she underwent the Lordship ritual- which wasn’t recommended until the age of twelve, for some _magical_ _reason_ \- and could discover and access the Family Grimoire.

Rituals, apparently, did not always go the way that they were _supposed_ to.  Magic, it seemed, was wily, whimsical, capricious, fickle, and not nearly as neatly contained as the well-ordered diagrams of spell breakdowns would suggest.

So she was now fully responsible for her family’s existing businesses and everything that entailed. 

Sort of.

Heather couldn’t walk down into the Alley and purchase a building, as she was a minor according to the Ministry.  The Gringotts loophole was that she could direct _her Manager_ to acquire the aforementioned building on behalf of the Potter family and her Manager would likely be able to.  Mostly because Gringotts handled almost all real estate purchases, and her Manager would be able to deal directly with the Bank instead of the individual seller.  And unless the poor, overworked guy in the Gringotts Liaison office at the Ministry got some serious help sometime soon-well, it was unlikely the Ministry records would be properly updated before Heather could become Lady Potter, and then it would be a moot, water-under-the-bridge sort of point.

She glanced at the window, but dawn wasn’t even hinting at the skyline yet.

 _Dammit_.

Might as well get some more reading in.

**\---XXX---**

By the time Harry stumbled into their little common room, Heather had about half a dozen more pages of notes, another dozen or two’s worth of crumpled up pieces of paper scattered around the rubbish bins, and she was glaring heatedly at the book she was reading.

“What did that book eve- _yawn_ \- ever do to you?”  Harry asked as he plopped down next to her, pillowing his head on his crossed arms.

“Do you have any idea how many friggin’ rules there are that _directly contradict_ each other?!”  Heather groused as she face planted into the open book.  “The Ministry and Gringotts _loathe_ each other, I get that.  But over two hundred years of making rules and laws that nearly directly contradict each other, just to spite one another?  Are you frickin’ _kidding_ _me_?!”

“That awesome, huh?”  Harry asked, peeking at her with one half-lidded green eye.

“Oh, _totally_.”  Heather ranted, peeling her face off the book with great effort.  “By _Ministry_ law, an Heir cannot inherit before they are fifteen.  That’s when they have to take up their hereditary seats on the Wizengamot- we have seven, all of which are currently inactive, by the way- and deal with all of that _shit_ in person.  Traditionally, but not _technically_ , that’s when they also take control of the family finances.  But, _of-fucking--course_ , Gringotts has sole control over all financial matters.  So, basically, all the Wizengamot’s rules about finance are sort of useless, but _important_ for a few key points.  Because the Ministry can clog up the Gringotts system with injunctions and red tape, which would be frustrating and greatly annoy the Stonebloods.” Heather glared at her notes as if they had personally offended her.  “Heirs usually transition into their Lordship roles sometimes in their thirties or later. However, younger Lords have become a little more common in the past half-century, thanks to WWII and the Blood War killing off an estimated nineteen percent of the Isles’ gifted population.”

“First of all- _wow_.  That’s like-“  Harry did some mental math.  “-almost a fifth, right?  Twenty is a fifth of a hundred, at least.  That’s, like, a bunch.” After a few heartbeats of silence, Harry snorted a laugh into the table.  “Lucky _you_ , Heather-feather.  I gladly accept my place as the youngest.”

Heather wadded up a sheet of paper and half-heartedly tossed it at her brother’s head.  “On the other hand, Gringotts rules are a lot of ‘how can we sidestep this in such a way that the wizards won’t know unless we tell them, but can still profit off of’.”  Heather groaned loudly.  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m _really happy_ about some of these loopholes- and I totally understand the secrecy agreement I had to sign to open the packet- but some of this is so _ridiculous_ I can’t help but wonder if it’s for real.”

“We were left on a doorstep.  In November.”  Harry explained, slowly.  “Magic is amazing and awesome and brilliant and I can’t wait to learn it properly, but I think sometimes they might get a little…uh, drunk on their power.”  Harry sat up and slouched in his chair.  “I mean, super arrogant?  Like those super rich people who are way out of touch with reality?”  He shrugged a little. “Like Aunt Petunia’s daytime dramas.”

“That’s…..a pretty good analogy, actually.”  Heather commented, flipping a few pages and sitting back a bit.  “This is going to take me _all day_ , and these are just the Gringotts-only , potential loophole rules.  We can’t get any Potter-specific information until the meeting with our Manager.”

**\---XXX---**

“Ok.  So.”  Heather said later that day, once they had had breakfast, snooped around the Diagon Alley a fair bit, stopped had some Florean Fortescue’s truly _magical_ ice cream, snooped around the Alley some more.  Around mid-afternoon they had come back to the Siren and grabbed lunch, before heading back up to their room.  Heather had then gone back to reading the Gringotts supplied information with all the enthusiasm of Dudley eating a healthy snack.

Harry’s sniggering at her while he perused a few books they had gotten at one of the three quidditch stores they had visited wasn’t exactly helping.

Hence, her sudden desire for her brother to suffer with her.

“We have an office building in Vertick Alley.”  Heather informed her brother while she doodled on her notebook paper.  There were a few Potter tidbits, written in hasty scrawl on the last page of the packet.  “It was attacked in early ’79, and sustained some damage.  Apparently, it was that attack that killed our grandfather.  Our grandmother had the wards and the building repaired before she died, but our parents never unlocked them.  So the building has been receiving regular ward upkeep by Gringotts, as have several others places, such as our ancestral home.  I’m not exactly sure how ward upkeep happens if the wards are closed, either.”

“Ancestral home?”  Harry perked up curiously from where he had been hiding behind his quidditch book, ignoring the upkeep thing for now.  “We might not have to go back to Number Four?”

Heather grimaced slightly.  “I’m afraid not, kiddo.  Shortly after our grandfather died- Charlus Potter, by the way- during her traditional mourning period, our grandmother- Dorea Potter- received visitors from her family, who turned out to be Voldemort sympathizers.  The wards weren’t ruined or anything, but the manor and the grounds sustained ‘significant damage’, so I don’t think so, Har-bear.”

“Well, that sucks.” Harry grumbled a little.

“Yeah.  We’ll see what we can do, kiddo.”  Heather said with a smile.  “I won’t get any details until our meeting, so we’ll just have to play it by ear.”

“Good news, everyone!”  Harry said sarcastically, going back to his book.

“ _Right_.”  Heather replied with a chuckle.  “At any rate, _for a_ _fee_ , we can rent a room at Gringotts to hold interviews.  A Gringotts employee conducts the interview, while we watch behind the –uh, glass? I guess?  It says ‘wall’, so I’m making an assumption here.  Our Manager should have old documents or guidelines for us to look over.  And employment contracts.”  Heather gave her brother a wry look.  “Also, details.  All of this stuff is all a matter of public record.  Police-auror- reports and stuff.”

“Hm.”  Harry hummed disinterestedly.  “ _Fascinating_.”

“And we’re going to need a personal assistant.”  Heather continued, regardless of her brother’s apathy.  She really didn’t blame him, this crap was migraine inducing.  “Or at least _, I_ am.”

“Whatever makes you happy, Heather-feather.”  Harry muttered distractedly.

Heather tossed the nearest book at her brother’s head. ‘ _Jerk_.’

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Well, _her_ day just got interesting.  Harry would be disappointed that he had declined to be in the room while she had the initial meeting between the Potter Manager and the Potter Heiress.

He was back at the Siren, no doubt reading more about quidditch and fanaticizing about flying on a broomstick.  He was such a ten-year-old boy sometimes, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.  She was perfectly willing and able to handle their financial matters.

Heather considered what she had learned in this little meeting as the Stoneblood seated across from her stared determinedly.  The one who had done all of the talking had been the heavily armed ‘escort’ and Heather rather disliked him for his condescending, dismissive tone of voice.  As if she was just a silly little girl who needed to go back to playing teatime with her dollies and leave the ‘real’ work to the men.

It irritated her something fierce.

Apparently, the Potter Managers were the direct descendants were the direct family of Stabtalon Goreclaw.

Way back in the early thirteenth century, Stabtalon had been gravely injured by a group of wizards close to the Potter ancestral home in Gloucestershire, which ran from several hundred acres inland to the Celtic Sea.  Ismelda Potter, a young woman who was out gathering herbs, rushed to his aid and was killed before her father, Osbern Potter, could come to her aid.

Osbern killed the attacking wizards and took Stabtalon back to the Potter home where his wife, Ismelda’s mother, nursed the Stoneblood back to health.  In honor of the young witch who had died defending him, Stabtalon swore that his family line would keep the Potter treasures safe. 

In those times it apparently wasn’t unheard of for wizards to hire the freelance Stoneblood clans to use their unique magic to rob their enemies.   Or even for wizards to attack other wizards while hired mercenary Stonebloods went underground to strip their enemy’s lands of precious resources, or to seek out the runestones that were buried deep within the earth- therefore rendering the land magically unstable and causing massive explosions from wards destabilizing.

Hence why the whole ‘unplottable’ thing was so popular with the really old families.  The knowledge of how to make a location thus fiercely guarded by the few who still held such precious information.

However, Stabtalon’s line had not had it easy through the years, especially not in the past century, and the last remaining direct descendent was a female Stoneblood named Bixbite. 

Apparently, female Stonebloods were named for gems, minerals, or other earthy rocks, while males were named for ferocity.  Or so Heather had been told, rather condescendingly, by the ‘escort’.  As if not having some variation of ‘claw’ or ‘gore’ in one’s name made them less capable.

Bixbite’s skin was rather smooth and more grey than green, but otherwise she looked much like her male counterparts, sans the armor.

It was not unheard of for a female Stoneblood to be a Manager, but it was definitely not common.  Like, one or two in the last two hundred years sort of ‘not common’. 

As added incentive for Heather to thwart the smug jerk escort, Bixbite was slated to marry a lowly tunneler.  In two days, actually; if Heather didn’t decide to keep her on as the Potter Manager.  The ‘escort’ Bixbite had been accompanied by had informed Heather, rather smugly, that the family had become so poor since Bixbite’s brother’s death ten years ago, that Bixbite was being forced to marry _seven_ ranks below her born station.  And, judging by his stance and words, the arrogant Stoneblood standing beside Bixbite fully believed that Heather would follow some sort of bizarre form of sexism or elitism and choose to not have a ‘disgraced’, female Stoneblood who was betrothed to a lowly tunneler as the Potter family Manager.

 _‘Allow me to disappoint you then, jerk._ ’  Heather thought as she took in the situation carefully. 

Bixbite had sharp eyes and, to Heather at least, the poise of a woman who was willing to fight for her right to sit at the king’s table.  Heather knew nothing of the Stonebloods other than what Connie had informed her, but the young Potter’s gut feeling about the situation was that there was far more to Bixbite than was being said.

The escort shifted, metal armor clinking lightly, and he opened his mouth to more than likely snap something impatient, but Heather had made up her mind.

Heather met Bixbite’s red eyes steadily and said.  “I have made my decision and I believe my _Manager_ and I have much to discuss.”

 There was a heartbeat of stunned silence, and the guide objected, but Bixbite snapped out something fierce and guttural sounding that shut him up rather quickly.

**\---XXX---**

The walk to the Potter family office was silent, save for the sound of the two women’s shoes tapping lightly on the ornate marble floor.

Suddenly, Bixbite stopped short and held up her hand to a blank section of wall between an expensive, ancient painting and an elaborate tapestry.  She chanted in the low, guttural language of the Stonebloods- or at least, that’s what Heather assumed it was; for all she knew it might have been some other language- while trailing a long, sharp-taloned finger down an invisible line in the wall.

Heather wasn’t surprised at the door’s appearance.

Too much.

‘ _Bloody Stonebloods and their invisible doors.’_   She thought rather amusedly.

The inside of the office was cozy, burgundy, and otherwise predictable. It held a fireplace, had plush carpeting, and many expensive looking decorations.

Heather was rather scared to sit on the furniture.  She’d never been around stuff this expensive in her entire life.

Lives.  _Whatever_.

Above the fireplace, in the central place of honor, there was the Potter coat of arms- the same as her ring- and another crest she assumed belonged to her Manager’s family.

Heather was rather uneasy with the heavy silence between the two of them, she had figured that they would at least chat a little on the walk, to save time if nothing else.  But she hadn’t heard Bixbite say a single word.

Bixbite gingerly sat in the chair behind the desk, her fingers lingering over the cloth and stone for a long moment, before she shook her head firmly and sat down determinedly.

Heather took a seat opposite her new Manager and waited patiently, her satchel resting on the small table to the right of her chair.

There was a long awkward pause between them, during which Heather felt her anxiety level multiply exponentially. 

Finally the new Manager spoke.  “I-I do not….speak…smooth….in the wizard……..tongue.”  Bixbite managed, her hands gripping the desk so tightly Heather thought she heard the stone creak. 

The words were strangely flat.  A little too low for the vowels to be properly rounded, and the consonants too sharp.  There had been a few pauses and strange sounds, as if Bixbite had wanted to use a different word, but couldn’t get her tongue around it properly.

Heather suddenly realized what the arrogant parting smirk the ‘escort’ had sent her meant.  Along with his passing comment of how Heather could ‘come to your senses’ within twenty-four hours.

For the low, low price of abject humiliation and lifetime of being looked down upon, of course.

 _‘Screw that.’_   Heather thought somewhat contemptuously, taking in Bixbite’s tense frame and hunched posture.  ‘ _I have not dealt with Petunia Dursley’s shit for a decade to falter here!_ ’

One of the smartest people she had ever known, during her time Before, had been an older Filipino man.  His English had been rough, too, and many people had rolled their eyes or made fun of him behind his back for it, but Heather had thought Sutan Yusef- more commonly known as ‘Pops’- had been _awesome_.  He had been one of the hardest workers she’d ever had the pleasure of working with, and over time their rapport had grown enough that he’d shared a bit of his backstory.

As well as the fact he spoke more than _ten_ languages fluently. And another dozen or so well enough to convey basic thoughts.

_“English.”  Pops said as he quickly packed the little finished eggs into their display box beside her.  “Is hard.  You have to practice it to make it sound perfect.”  Pops shrugged and grinned at her.  “I like to read it.  To watch American tv.  To write letters.  To speak it…not so much.”_

Heather had a feeling- an inkling, a premonition, a gut instinct- that Bixbite was much the same.

So, Heather took a leap of faith.

‘ _Certainty of death.  Small chance of success.  What are we waiting for?’_   She thought rather wryly.

“Please correct me if I am incorrect, Manager Bixbite.”  Heather said relatively smoothly, nervously smoothing the palms of her hands over the casual summer robes she had procured for this meeting.  “But I am assuming that you read, write, and understand English, and simply need more practice speaking it?”

Bixbite’s red- much like the gem she was named for- eyes lit up with something very close to relief as she nodded.  “Yes.”  Her brow furrowed, and so Heather waited patiently, rewarded with the follow-up comment of, “No….. wizard…..”  Bixbite made a noise of frustration and mimed talking.

“I think I understand!”  Heather said with a smile, trying to be reassuring and supportive, but not patronizing.  “It’s difficult to progress with a skill that needs a partner if there are no partners to be had.”  Heather dug into her satchel and produced her notebook.  “I know that this office has been inactive for a while, and there are many things you, as the Manager need to verify.  So, if it would be alright with you, I’ll just leave this with you and we can go over it in…..say, a week?  Would that be enough time for you to conduct an audit?  Or at least gather the preliminary findings for one?  I understand, thanks to the smug jerk, that the office has been vacant since your brother’s death in ’82 and so an audit would be the best place to start, I believe.”

Bixbite finally released the desk from her death grip and held out her hand expectantly.  “No…change?”  She asked somewhat cautiously.

“I am _not_ going to change my mind about having you as my Manager simply because you need to practice your English.”  Heather asserted firmly.  “I have plans to put into action and a House to rebuild.  We can practice your English together, and after I hire my assistant, they will be assigned a few hours a week to assist you as well.  We’re all on the same team, after all.”  Heather gave the female Stoneblood her best approximation of a wicked smirk.  “Are you up to the task of showing a bunch of stuffy old men the _right_ way to make a profit?”

Something settled between the two of them. 

Bixbite’s spine uncurled and resolve settled around her like a cloak.

Heather felt a spark of excitement.  “Excellent.”  She said as she reseated herself and Bixbite began to page through her notebook.  “Feel free to write your questions or concerns down, for now.  Though you are certainly welcome to practice your English with me, I don’t mind at all!”

 _‘I really hope we can do this.’_  Heather thought as Bixbite began to scrawl out something on a piece of parchment.  _‘So much depends on it.’_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Bixbite started sending preliminary reports over with a Stoneblood messenger the morning after their meeting.

Harry spent a fair amount of time in the Alley, but Heather wasn’t much of a shopper, and the only real desire she had to venture outside was Fortescue’s ice cream.  The Siren was also the closest Heather had ever come to air conditioning, aside from the Club, and she felt very much like a comfy, content cat who was leisurely sprawled inside their favorite box.  So, Harry did a fair bit more exploring than Heather, though he did often bring her back ice cream, and stopped in to double check with her before making purchases that added up to more than a galleon, so there was that.

She had given him a galleon a day budget.  Which was rather high, but after so many years of being frugal and needing to buy basic necessities as _children_ , Heather felt that Harry deserved the freedom.  And he was surprisingly finicky about his purchases; most of it went to bouts of ice cream or fish-and-chips during breaks between exploring the strange new world they had entered, with only a few splurges, like quidditch books or knickknacks that he found fascinating.

_“They sell stuff like dragon livers and powdered mer eggs like it’s completely normal.”  He told her one day, his face alight with in excitement.  “It’s so cool!  I mean, I’ve known about magic forever but to live with it like it’s just another day at Number Four is…..it’s amazing!_

What Heather’s introvert tendencies meant, was that she was there when the messenger arrived, so the Stoneblood hadn’t been kept waiting long.  She had needed to use her ring to sign for the delivery, and then she had been gifted with what felt like _reams_ of parchment containing neatly written information.

‘ _Ugh_.’  Heather thought as she tried to focus her attention on the words swimming in front of her tired eyes.  The Potter holdings were a complete and utter disaster, and there were a significant amount of them. 

Potion ingredient farms, shielded tracks of that served as magical creature sanctuaries that needed to be brought back under control, several houses to be rebuilt, the fiasco of the Godric’s Hollow home being designated a ‘national landmark’ by the Ministry without the proper due process being followed, a number of businesses that hadn’t been paying rent- Bixbite cited that other families had convinced the occupants that the properties had been sold to them; a tricky bit of misdirection that needed to be ended swiftly and decisively-  as well as the piled up mail backlog.

And those were just the highlights.  For being a family that liked to keep to themselves and mostly stay out of politics, the Potters had their fingers in a _lot_ of proverbial pies.

According to Bixbite, most scions of Old Houses were under mail redirection wards set by their parents.  Only those who the aforementioned heir considered a friend or even an acceptable acquaintance were allowed to circumvent the ward; up to a certain age, when the child’s inherent magic broke the passive Family Magic charm. 

It was intention based magic tied to the Family Magic at its finest, according to Bixbite.  Normal mail redirection wards were terribly expensive and usually not half as effective.

The office building on Vertick had been designated as the mail dumping ground by their parents, and Gringotts had been acting as the intermediate, for an annual fee, of course.  Cursed mail had been forwarded to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement while all other mail was dumped into some poor, overstuffed room at the office via the magical equivalent of a mailbox.

There had only been three incidents with idiots attempting to slip harmful things into the mailbox over the years.  Bixbite had been rather mum about their fates, but she had mentioned that the office’s wards had been upgraded by Dorea Potter shortly after the woman’s marriage into the family and then again after Charlus’ death, and her maternal family was rumored to have wards that sent offenders to the bottom of the sea.

‘ _Hell hath no fury._ ’  Heather thought somewhat sagely as she decided to not pursue the matter.  _‘Go grandma!’_

Of course, then there were the houses, businesses, or other various things that had been left to the Potter family in Wills or had been directly donated to them.

Heather wasn’t even thinking about _those_ right now.  She could only deal with one pile of precariously balanced crap at a time, thanks.

Bixbite had been looking into the matter of Wills, but those were handled by an entirely separate division.  Something to do with treaty terms and concessions with the Ministry.

 _‘What it comes down to is a long battle with red tape.’_  Heather had concluded once she’d read Bixbite’s neatly summarized findings.

Which brought up something Heather had been toying with for a long while.

Originally she had decided to wait until they reached Hogwarts to try to use any of her foreknowledge.  Well, to see if it was still viable, by trying to locate the lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.  She couldn’t be exactly sure of what had changed or what hadn’t- Harry’s scar being the case in point- so she had wanted a reference point. 

But, she remembered a little tidbit from the first book.

_The attempted thief at Gringotts had never been caught._

What if she changed that?

Bixbite was already at a disadvantage, so Heather warning her Manager of a ‘dream’ she’d had would possibly increase Bixbite’s regard among her peers and grant Heather some clout.  If Heather could somehow leverage _that_ goodwill into sending a letter to the present Lord Black, playing the Regulus angle, perhaps she could set something truly formidable in motion.  Perhaps getting Sirius freed, legally, and getting access to Bellatrix’s Vault.  But even if she could only get the old ma to listen for the sake of Regulus- he had just disappeared, and the Black family were still looking into his disappearance, according to what she had found- that would be a huge win.

It would be a series of serious coincidences, with which any number of things that could go wrong, but it was _something_.

But was she brave enough to _try_?

For all she knew, telling Bixbite would be a huge breech of protocol and she’d end up shoveling rocks in the deep in the bowels of the Earth.

Heather’s spiral of depressing and dismal thoughts was interrupted by the door opening.  Harry stumbled inside, a wide grin on his face, and ice cream in his hands.

“Heather-feather!”  He laughed as he set one of the triple scoop sundaes on the table beside her.  “I saw the _weirdest_ thing-“

As Harry’s excited chatter washed over her, Heather ate her- delicious, it was the best she’d ever had- ice cream and plotted.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Heather sat behind the wall of a Gringotts interview room, watching the human Gringotts employee Bixbite had chosen, conduct interviews for a personal assistant. 

Well, technically she should be calling the person a butler, seneschal, or majordomo.  All the terms seemed a little masculine to her, though; so she personally preferred personal assistant.

The ad had been put out in the _Prophet_ the day after she had first met with Bixbite.  It hadn’t mentioned for whom the position was for, but that wasn’t all that unusual, according to Bixbite and the reading Heather had done about hiring practices had confirmed it.  Heather was thankful that Harry didn’t mind going out into the Alley to fetch books and such for her, as that had given her a lot more time to read up on things and scheme.

Bixbite, who was sitting to Heather’s right, growled suddenly; startling Harry, who was sitting to Heather’s left.

Before Heather could ask, Bixbite angrily shoved Heather’s notebook towards her.  They were using nonmagical means for Bixbite’s messages, so they could burn them and not worry about them being somehow magicked back into existence and used against them.

Hence the reasons why Bixbite wasn’t just magicking them into existence, either.

_The piece of filth is blatantly lying, Heiress.  Again.  That is the fifth outright lie and they are only on the third question._

Bixbite, Heather had found, was an excellent lie detector.

She pursed her lips as she regarded the man across the wall.  Only four people had applied for the position, and the first two Heather had rejected outright.  The first had been a terrible woman who had a shrill voice that could rival Petunia, and many of the same opinions, if not inversed.  The second had been a slimy man who had hit on the interviewer relentlessly, even after she had politely asked him to stop.

Six times.

This was the last person who met the qualifications it the advertisement, which had been a graduation certificate from Hogwarts, something which Heather didn’t feel was unreasonable.  And yet, this was her last chance before she had to interview a drop-out. 

 _‘Maybe he’ll do well enough I can have him do simple things until we can find someone better.’_   Heather thought rather hopefully, rather uncomfortable with the idea of leaving her research and liaison tasks to someone who hadn’t even finished Hogwarts.  Heather was operating in the grey area between Gringotts and the Ministry, and al it would take is one toe just a little too far out of that narrow path for the Ministry to catch wind of her loopholes and work to close or circumvent them.

Loopholes weren’t all that helpful if everyone knew about them.

The interviewer asked the fourth question, and Bixbite hissed fiercely about three words into his answer.

“Cut him loose, Bixbite.” Heather said with a sigh, kneading her forehead tiredly as her Manager all but sprang from her seat and seemed to teleport to the door.  There was a headache building behind her eyes and she was sorely tempted to just hire the man, but she didn’t want to be constantly concerned about him double crossing her.

Trustworthiness and scrupulousness were the purpose of the first six questions.

Harry squirmed guiltily beside Heather.  “Bored, Har-bear?”

“Yeah.”  Harry admitted somewhat sheepishly. 

Heather reached into her satchel and withdrew a packet of colored pencils and a coloring book.  “Go for it, kiddo.”

Harry gleefully accepted them, but looked to her, hesitant.  “Are you sure?”

“It’s fine, Har-bear.”  Heather assured him as Bixbite came back inside the room.  “I promise.”

Bixbite raised a brow at Harry, but Heather just smiled and gestured for her Manager to sit.  “Who is left?”  She asked, instead of explaining.

She was handed a dossier.

“Olivia Robinson.  Age seventeen, as of early this month.  Former Hufflepuff.”  Heather read quietly to herself.  “Unexpectedly dropped out of Hogwarts this past spring, despite being an excellent student and Prefect.”  Heather furrowed her brows as she read the girl’s OWL grades.  “A year away from her NEWTs, which she was expected to pass with distinction.  So wh-“

The door in the other room opened and the question died on Heather’s lips.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

**\---XXX---**

It was amazing how much life could change in just a few months.

Four months ago, Olivia had been a respected Prefect and a model student.  Muggleborn, but bright and fairly powerful, she had been allowed to rise above the glass ceiling that kept many of her fellow muggleborn or half-bloods down.

Now.

Well, now she was homeless and desperate.

She had been so _stupid_.  Thinking that, that…. _Pureblood asshole_ had _cared_ about her.

And now she couldn’t even go home.  Her father had never been all that accepting of her having magic, and he certainly didn’t want to associate with his Primary level educated, magic school dropout, disgrace of a daughter.

Not when he had a new wife and a new family to take care of.  Olivia was very much a dirty little secret who only existed during summer.

So, she had no home to fall back on which made her well and truly stuck.  Because if she _had_ returned to Hogwarts, well, things would have only gotten worse.

Olivia had read about other muggleborn or half-bloods in similar situations as to her- other women and a smattering of males who had impregnated a Pureblood witch- and those cases _always_ ended in tears.  Her life was worth essentially _nothing_ next to the fact that she was carrying a child of Pureblood family. 

Voluntary termination wasn’t an option either.  First of all, Olivia had always been taught that such a thing was emphatically wrong.  And no matter how scared or overwhelmed she was, that thought wouldn’t leave her.  Second, a botched attempt- whether from a homemade substance, or a procedure in London- would likely be worse than death in many ways, as then the Ministry would get involved. 

The laws about the voluntary termination of a pregnancy were a strange mix of loss of property- to both the Pureblood family and the magical world itself- and an outright homicide crime.  Either way, Olivia very well could end up as a penal slave- in bloody 1991!- to the Pureblood family, likely resulting in her extremely early, extraordinarily painful demise.  There were no laws as to the rights of a penal slave; she would be considered less of a person than the average werewolf or centaur.   Meanwhile her baby would either be discreetly killed off- trying to scare accidental magic out of her- or blood-adopted into the family, likely never knowing of Olivia.  And blood adoption usually did not end well for the child, either, especially if a Pureblood witch produced the family a ‘proper’ heir.

Unfortunately for Olivia, her one-time lover had been far from the line of succession, and so her child wouldn’t even have the slim hope of being needed to continue the family line.  If they caught up to her, she was worse off than dead.

Should she manage to give birth to her child and give her- she just had this feeling she was having a girl- only Olivia’s family name on the Magical Certificate of Live Birth, then Olivia would be, for all intents and purposes, free and clear.  Her child would be considered solely her property- as disgusting as that sounded- and unless she asked for money or something, her former lover would have no claim.  She would essentially be magically adopting her own child, in a way, making her the sole magical parent.

Magic was finicky and flexible like that.

As for her former flame.  Well, to pursue a woman who gave carried, birthed, and purposely did not name him on the Certificate, would do an incredible amount of damage to the Pureblood family’s reputation.  Even among other Purebloods who liked to pursue the Line Theft and Destruction of House Assets laws would not back them.  It was a major part of the reason the House of Carrow had fallen from grace, some thirty years back.

This job was her last hope, and it wasn’t all that much of a bright one.  But it was all the hope she had left.

**\---XXX---**

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Bixbite met Heather’s eyes and they stared at one another for a long moment.

Heather knew that she was already at a disadvantage, and hiring an unwed, young mother would seem to others as just another nail in the proverbial coffin.

But-

Well, Heather had a stupid heart and a stubborn streak a mile wide.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

 


	5. Alterations Arc, Part II

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

After deciding to hire Liv- Olivia’s preferred shortened form of her name-  Heather had needed to go down to the ‘main’ Potter vault and unlock it, so she could retrieve the keys for the Vertick Alley office.  Harry couldn’t go with her- even if he’d still been there and not off running errands- so she had needed to jump through all the verification steps herself. 

And ride the cart down by herself.  She held onto the railing like her life depended on it and closed her eyes.

According to Bixbite- who had personally taken Heather down to the Potter Vaults, as was her right as the Potter Manager- there were seven Vaults dedicated to the Potter family in the nine hundred level.  The second most secure and largest Vaults at Gringotts Diagon.   While Gringotts did not keep an exact accounting of their contents without the owner of the Vault requesting a Gringotts Vault Audit- privacy and all- Bixbite said that they all felt fairly full to her Stoneblood senses.

Well, she said it differently, but that was what Heather took away from it.

The Primary Vault, the one Heather had needed to enter, seemed as large as the entirety of the Club’s golf course, jam packed with all sort of items like covered paintings, jewels, books, armor, weapons, and other things that were just bizarre for Heather to think were _hers_.

Well, hers and Harry’s, of course, but the sentiment was the same.

Fortunately, the key ring had been fairly easy to find, a combination of her Family Magic, her Heir ring, and the raised stone dais thing that sat just a few steps past the entrance.  The coolest part had been that the set of old-fashioned keys had disappeared _into her ring_ when she had wondered where she was going to put them.  It had scared the ever-living crap out of her until she had desperately wondered where they went, only for them to fall out of the front portion of her ring and onto the ground.

‘ _Neat_.’  She thought, delighted, after testing her theory a few times.

Slight heart-attack aside, it had gone smoothly. 

Heather had been about to request a Vault Audit, on their way back to the surface, but there had been complications.  Namely, Bixbite had no family left that were bound to the original oaths to the Potter family, so she would need to conduct the Vault Audit personally.  Something she assured Heather she would be more than happy to do, but with the wider audit currently underway it would be all but impossible.

The Stoneblood had said that after a few years of being the Potter Manager she would be able to marry- Heather got the feeling Bixbite had a particular individual in mind- and then her spouse would become part of her family with all the oaths involved, giving Bixbite some much-needed Stoneblood support.   Heather had appreciated Bixbite’s honesty and frankness, and had requested that a Vault Audit to be done whenever Bixbite had the time.

Anyways, opening the wards on the office had been fairly simple compared to the Vaults. 

The twins had needed to pass through what had appeared to be a solid brick wall to Liv, though it looked to have a wrought iron gate to the twins.  Displayed on a shiny plaque built into the brick were the words, ‘411 Vertick Alley’, the address of the office according to Bixbite’s information.

Harry had been holding her hand and thus was allowed to pass through with her, though it had taken a fair bit of effort at first, as the magic had initially resisted his inclusion.  Once they had made it through that slight obstacle they arrived in a bursting, overgrown garden.  It had taken a bit of searching- thankfully they had only been nearly eaten once- but eventually she and Harry had discovered what looked to be a large, decorative gardenstone, bearing the Potter family Coat-of-Arms.

Heather had needed to use the Potter Ward Opener from the Vault, which thankfully disappeared off into her ring when it wasn’t needed, much like the keyring.  It quite literally looked like an insanely expensive, jeweled letter opener, only nearly overflowing with Family Magic- or at least that joyful feeling she now _strongly suspected_ was the Potter Family Magic.  At any rate at the prodding of similar feeling magic lightly at the edges of her mind- which only really supported what Bixbite had informed her would likely be necessary- she lightly poked each of her fingertips- and that had _stung_ \- on her non-ring hand before placing the bloodied Ward Opener into the small slit in the stone. 

Much like a key, actually.  Then she had needed to press her still-bleeding hand to the stone, Harry still clutching her other hand to complete the ‘instructions’.

There had been a long moment when the magic of the wards turned against her.  Searching, judging, assessing. 

It had been terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

At that point, the magic shifted away from peering into her soul and began to roil and froth.  It built and built, spiraling up into the heavens joyfully, before it abruptly crashed back down onto her- and Harry- like a warm wave lapping at the soft sands of a cool beach.

That first moment of being accepted by the wards was rather difficult to describe.  It was akin to being welcomed home; a warm hug on a cold night, and having the secrets of the place softly placed at the very back of her mind.  It was a gentle sort of understanding.  The information a silent supporter that wouldn’t intrude upon her mind unless she asked nicely, but always ready and willing to assist her.

Suddenly, they were gently returned to Liv’s side, and much like the entrance at the Cauldron, the brick wall shuddered and neatly parted, revealing their office.

“That.”  Harry drawled dryly as the building came into view, filling the formerly empty space quickly.  Actually it revealed an entire new block, with the building sitting catty-cornered in the front, with a low wrought iron fence that tapered off into high, stacked stone walls partway to the front entrance.  “Is quite a bit bigger than I thought it would be when I heard ‘office’.”

The building that grew out of that lonely stretch of wall was just off the main street of Vertick.  Outwardly it was a lovely, dignified building that stood about two full, old-timey stories high, with wide windows and a very Elizabethian-era sense of design.  It had hints of the Grecian and Roman staples here and there, with columns in the front and high arches. 

The overall design, while elegant, was very symmetrical.  Something which greatly appealed to Heather’s sense of aestheticism.

To be a bit more precise, the office its own ‘city block’ and sat sort of catty-cornered, facing the main street of Vertick, but originally it had appeared to be a rather boring wall of charmingly old bricks, situated at the tail end of a row of large, stately buildings.  Most of the street held specialized businesses, with a Healer’s Office and Apothecary shop to the side, and the Vertick Alley central fountain area-slash-park to the front of the office.

Heather, for her part, was once again sharply reminded of the fact that magic could literally _bend reality_.  It was amazing to consider and suddenly she was that much more excited to learn about this strange and awesome power that coursed through her blood.

She pushed her inner worst-case-scenario banshee back into her happy cage.

No need for that sort of negativity today!  She could overanalyze later!

Walking inside was much like walking into the quiet of a church.  It felt almost intrusive, even though Heather knew for a fact she had a right to be here.

Well, deep seeded worries about her being an unexpected addition aside.

The floors were dusty marble, the wards only able to do so much against the natural flow of time.  Since the wards had been maintained by Gringotts- which was basically them supplying a fresh infusion of power every year and clearing away any noxious magical buildup, according to Bixbite- there shouldn’t be any creatures inside, but Liv had her wand out, just in case.

The twins could use magic here, as it was Family Lands, but they didn’t exactly have any spells in their arsenal just yet.  They were still reading the introductory books!

But, back to the interior. 

The floors were checkered marble; the walls covered in bookcases made of thick woods; the plethora of desks in the unused, but furnished offices were also made of expensive looking, but handsome woods.  In fact, the overall décor were the colors of the Potter family- gold, crimson, cream, with the Potter Coat-of-Arms with the winged lions- and it was surprisingly soothing.

It was a strange mix of cozy and professional; Elizabethian era design and other, further, influences that flowed together surprisingly well.  Something Heather was fascinated by- especially the seemingly stained glass ceiling in the entrance hall- once she had managed to shake off the feeling of being an unwanted intruder.

It was also about as big as she remembered the Professor from X-Men’s house being, on the inside.  Seriously, who needed this much space?  As the owner of the wards, Heather could tailor how much of the building was available- she _really_ needed to focus on learning about wards once she found her footing; wards were sort of a staple in this life and she couldn’t rely on Family Magic, heirlooms, and her ring for _everything_ \- but it was honestly huge.  By what the wards told her when she tapped into them the first time, barely a third of the available space of the building was currently accessible.

There was a severe lack of books, portraits- even still ones- and other knickknacks.  For the moment she was assuming such things had been placed in the Potter Vaults and she was rather dreading decorating.  She was spectacularly bad at such things.  Maybe Harry or Liv would want to tackle the task? 

More than enough room for a couple of solicitors, Liv, and the twins to each have their own offices- complete with secretary desks, ensuite loos, and cushy personal reference libraries- but still a bit ridiculous.

Perhaps she should offer Bixbite one here as well?  Or would that be rude?

Hm.

But, aside from giving her new employee somewhere to stay until a permanent arrangement could be found, the main reason why they had come here was to see how much mail had piled up through the years. 

By the time they made it to the magically reinforced basement, which was just as nice and polished as the rest of the house, they found two bank-vault styled rooms full of laundry-mountain-esque piles of mail- the deceptively innocent looking ones that took about eight hours, an act of Congress, and a medium grade miracle to get folded and put away- with a third room holding about a third of mail mountain as well.

And these rooms were roughly the size Petunia’s kitchen and dining room put together.  Which didn’t _sound_ like a lot, but considering that what filled them were mostly _letters_ …….

Heather sort of just goggled at the scene in front of her.  Behind her, Harry made an amused noise of incomprehension and Liv let out an incredulous laugh.

It had already been a long day and she was ready to go back to the Siren and ignore the world for a while. 

However, her new assistant, after some pointed questions, had revealed that she had no place to stay.  After some quick discussion with Bixbite, while still behind the wall, Heather had found out that the office building in Vertick also had a few small flats, for particularly late nights or the occasional guest. 

Heather had sent Bixbite off to fetch much more stringent employment contracts for Liv so the young woman could stay there for the moment.

Upon Heather’s request, Harry had rather amiably skipped off to find their Connie-assigned guard, Mr. Leif, and grab some groceries for the poor girl.  Heather hadn’t been _precisely_ sure as to the differences between magical and nonmagical pregnancies, but Harry had helped Kris with a lot of the shopping when Kris had been pregnant with Maddie, so he was the most qualified for the task.

While he was off procuring food- and heather had been opening the Primary Vault- Liv had been taking an old Potter assessment exam, sort of a double check thing that allowed a person to explain their background in their own words. 

As a side note, apparently, Gringotts actually offered background checks; something that had gotten lost in the shuffle of Bixbite and Heather both being rather new and unused to communicating with one another.

_Lesson learned._

 “I vote we set it all on fire.”  Was the first thing that popped out of Heather’s mouth, once she’d taken a moment to process the situation.

Harry choked on his laughter behind her.  “If fire doesn’t solve your problem, you’re not using enough fire?”

“Exactly.”  Heather replied sagely, firmly shutting the door and sliding down to sit on the floor, her head in her hands. 

 _‘Is this a change I made?’_   She wondered rather miserably as Harry sat down beside her and hugged her _.  ‘I don’t remember any of this shit from the books!  Or movies!  “Well, yeah,” another part of her said dryly, “This is your actual life, not a story with the benefit of lore retcon, genius.’’_

Heather took several minutes to selfishly wallow in self-pity over the sheer amount of _shit_ she needed to deal with.  They had arrived in the Alley on Tuesday, the twenty-fifth of June, and she had met Bixbite the following Friday, the twenty-eighth.  It was only _Saturday_ , the frigging sixth of July, and she _already_ felt like she was drowning.

Sure they had about seven weeks before they were due at Hogwarts, but there was just _so much_ that needed doing.  And very little time, comparatively, in which to do it.

 _‘Take a deep breath.  Hold it for ten seconds.  Exhale through your nose.’_  She told herself, falling into that familiar pattern, one she had done so many times through the years- especially during the debacle- to help her keep her focused on what she _could_ do, not what she _couldn’t_.

“Alright, Heather-feather?”  Harry asked, rubbing her back comfortingly.

“Yeah.”  Heather breathed out slowly, blinking her eyes open and smiling wryly at her twin.  “Just got a little overwhelmed there for a moment.”

“I-”  Harry said with pure conviction.  “-would have given up and ignored everything by now.  Just sort of looked at it while it was all on fire and wandered off to find some marshmallows or something.”  He smiled brightly at Heather.  “You’re pretty amazing, Heather-feather.  You’ve done ore in a week than I would have done in years!”

“I’m also here to help, my Lady.”  Liv spoke up from behind them, causing the twins to turn around to face her.  “You’ve given me more of a chance that no one- even my own _father_ discarded me.  I won’t ever forget that.”  Liv’s earnestness somehow made Heather feel worse.

 _‘You’re under a stringent contract and have nowhere else to go.  I don’t want to take advantage of you.’_  Heather thought somewhat sadly, shaking her head to clear her thoughts and climbing to her feet.  “I appreciate that, Liv, and Heather is fine.”  Heather held out a hand to help Harry up, patted the dust off of herself, and headed out of the room.  “According to the information from the wards, there is a small flat in the back that you can use, Liv, at least until you find a place of your own or one of the Potter properties can be properly cleaned up.  I’m hoping to do that next week, so then you’ll be able to- hopefully- pick a place and not have to stay here…….”

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Reginald Montfort had been practicing law since 1947.

He was internationally famous for it, actually, and was one of the foremost experts in Europe on navigating the mired quicksand pit of Old Laws, Olde Magic, and modern magicals and lawmaker’s needs.

The Isles were an interesting place to practice law, to be sure.  Britain, Wales, and Scotland had the Ministry for Magic, and had since around the time of the Statute of Secrecy being implemented. 

Ireland was equally fascinating, but rather insular.  Even more so than the three ‘main’ sections of the Isles.  Reginald had only argued three Ireland-involved cases, and all of them had been done at the ICW General Assembly Hall.

Amusingly, even the nonmagical Irish knew to not disturb the Fairy domains.

But, the Isles.

The Wizengamot had been around since the fourteenth century.  Actually, originally it had been the Council of Nobles and that Council still persisted to this day, though it was very much sort of an ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ sort of a deal.  The original Council held representatives from the fifty most prominent families of the time.  And over time those votes were redistributed to the next-of-kin surviving Nobles, but very rarely was a new Noble introduced, even back then.  

It had actually been a much more ‘advanced’ or ‘modern’ system than most present-day Nobles believed.  Or liked to talk about.

The original Council had taken many of its cues from societies such as the Romans, Greeks, Celts, and so on.  So there had been a great deal of Ladies and laws that were far more considerate of ‘magical beings’ and ‘magical humanoids’.  Of course, constant infighting and such takes its toll on any system, and the council was disbanded and reformed more than a few times during the turbulent centuries of war and paranoia leading up to the Statue’s implementation.

Then the half century before the Statue came calling and an aggressive Dark Lord rose. One who was keen on blotting out portions of history he did not agree with.

He was rather successful, unfortunately.  And even after his fall, his sense of blood superiority and arrogance lingered among many of the Nobles.

Then the ICW began to form and the Statue’s early incarnations were written.  And even the magicals of the Isles knew that they needed to hide away completely. 

Magic was a great and wondrous energy, but the normal humans were learning quickly and were quite accomplished at war.  The English Civil War, specifically, had been far more bloody and upsetting than most remembered.  But people could be cruel, especially when they could use fear or religion to demonize those who were ‘different’.  And no few families had perished during the chaos, prompting even the most stubborn of the objectionists on Council of Nobles to ratify the ICW’s Attachment Agreement.

That did not mean they wanted a _functioning_ government for more than keeping the muggles unawares.

So, true to their paranoid and stubborn roots, the Isles had simply cut-and-pasted the Council of Nobles to the newly named ‘Ministry for Magic’, patted themselves on the back, and moved on.

Then the Statute had been implemented and it became obvious that they need to do a teensy bit more planning. Mostly because of all the fines from the ICW’s Statute Execution Committee. 

So, the Ministry had been restructured.  Departments had been added.  Eventually the position of ‘Minister’ was added.  The Council of Nobles folded into the ‘Wizengamot’.

Which was important.  Because the original fifty votes were scattered around roughly thirty five families, none of whom would give up a single vote.  Not one, there had been battles fought over them, ending lines and killing off nearly an entire Years’ worth of Hogwarts-aged children.

Thus, more new laws were made.  Ones that gave the Council of Nobles the sole authority on matters regarding Old Families, Family Lands, and such.  As a major concession to be allowed unilateral Noble authority, the Council agreed that the Wizengamot would be fully refilled to the original fifty members quota and be given single votes.

Still a system that was definitively skewed in the favor of the Old Families, but it had been quite the accord at the time.

Over time some seats were made hereditary ,while others were filled by Noble or Minister Appointment.  More Old Families died off and were folded into sitting Nobles’ voting blocs while the seat was filled and given a new, ‘clean’ vote.

It was complicated and backwards and somewhat infuriating, but utterly _fascinating_.

Then the Blood War of the seventies had begun.  Reginald’s beloved and only son, Richard, had been among those Voldemort had courted.  Rich had refused and for a while the family had moved on, unaware of the depraved lengths that this new ‘Dark Lord’ would go to sow fear.

But they had learned.  Oh had they _learned_.

Out of his original three children and the four grandchildren he had been blessed with and his wife, only Reginald and his grandson Nigel remained.

Where once Reginald had been a trusted advisor and expert opinion provider to some of the highest officials in the government, including Noble families, he was suddenly being cut loose.  Overlooked ad forgotten, old colleagues wouldn’t make eye contact and he lost everything but his tiny office at the corner of Diagon and Knockturn and the ruined, ancestral grounds that had once housed his entire family.

Then came the day his first- but definitely not last- case had been thrown out on account of it being a ‘Council’ case and he an ‘unqualified commoner’.  It had been infuriating and deeply embarrassing, but Reginald persisted, determined to see justice done for his family and others like them.

Then Nigel had narrowly avoided an ‘Avada Kedavra’ while waiting for Reginald, _in the Atrium_ at the _Ministry_.

It had only been the quick and selfless actions of Dorea Potter- who he later had found out was only there to take lunch with her busy Auror husband- than had saved his sole remaining grandchild.

Reginald had thanked her profusely, taken Nigel their small apartment above the office, and began packing. 

He had transferred Nigel to the ICW school in Bergland- a massive iceberg that had been chosen as a neutral grounds for an international magical school for ICW employees’ children- and spent the next decade or so working on cases far from his homeland.  Eventually Nigel had graduated and attended the ICW University for Advanced Learning on Accord Isle near Antarctica, following in Reginald’s footsteps.

Then they had turned their gazes back to the Isles.  To home.

They had been prepared for all manner of nasty and unpleasant things, but they had barely cleaned the dust off of the shelves and put the office to rights before Voldemort had been vanquished.

They had celebrated with the rest of the Isles.

But the aftermath was still much of the same, just without he figureheads.  Reginald and Nigel both found work scarce, and despite their dedication and desire to invest in the country they called home, they had to take many international cases just to keep food on the table.  They had the experience and drive and knowledge, they just didn’t have a Noble family’s backing, which was essentially _everything_ in modern Isles law.

Or, at least, everything they needed to be able to be allowed to argue their cases.

It was infuriating and maddening and grating, to be an outsider in one’s own home.

Reginald had been sitting at the kitchen table in their shared flat above the office, eating breakfast and discussing selling off the ancestral lands and moving away, for what felt to be the _hundredth thousandth time_ with Nigel, when an owl knocked impatiently on the window.

“Are we expecting any mail, Grandpa?”  Nigel asked as he waved his wand and warily eyed the owl, which swooped in and deposited a neatly rolled bit of parchment bearing an official Gringotts seal onto the table before it stole a bit of bacon and vaulted back out the window.

“Not that I can recall.”  Reginald admitted, taking the parchment once Nigel had run the standard set of charms over the thing.  He efficiently broke the stone-like seal and unfurled the scroll, feeling the standard Gringotts privacy magic wash over him as he did so.

“Grandpa?”  Nigel asked worriedly when Reginald dropped his fork in surprise and gripped the parchment with both hands.

Reginald waved off his grandson’s queries and re-read the simple, but life altering parchment.

Eventually growing impatient, Nigel walked around the table and read over his grandpa’s shoulder.

_“To The Right Honorable Reginald Montfort and The Honorable Nigel Montfort,_

_My employer requests your attendance for an Assessment Consultation at Gringotts Bank at your earliest convenience._

_Please be advised that this is a confidential invitation, and thus subject to Gringotts Bank’s Client Confidence Acts, Section II, subsection five._

_My employer looks forward to your appearance,_

_Manager B. Goreclaw_

_Gringotts Bank”_

There were several moments of incredulous silence.

“Grandpa.”  Nigel said slowly, sounding rather distant to Reginald’s ears.  “Isn’t an Assessment Consultation-“

“-an initial meeting with an Old Family.  To be their Retainers.  Only Old Families use the Old Designations.”  Reginald finished somewhat shakily, forcing his fingers to uncurl from the parchment as he shoved his plate over and laid the letter on the worn table.  “But the question is- for who?”

“I heard a rumor about an office reappearing in Vertick sometime last week.  Old Man Alfie over on Horizont says it’s the Potter one.”  Nigel offered hesitantly as he walked back around the table and slumped down into his chair.  The younger man scrubbed a hand through his dark brown hair before he leaned forward and rest his chin on an upraised hand.  “But you’d think they already have Counsel, with the books and the charities.”

“You’d think.”  Reginald hummed lightly as his mind raced.

But if it was the Potters, by some strange twist of fate, and they _didn’t_ have Counsel.  And all those books and charities were using the Potter name- and old Family name- for illegal profit then that would put Reginald and Nigel before the Council of Nobles.

With the backing of an Old Family.

Reginald forcibly marshalled his racing thoughts and tried to calm his heartbeat.  “Do we have anything planned for this week?”  he asked his grandson calmly.

More to have something to say, as to actually needing to hear the answer.

“Nothing.”  His grandson affirmed, jumping up from his chair and scurrying over to his cluttered desk.

As the younger man laid the writing supplies down in front of him and pulled his chair over by Reginald’s own, Reginald wondered if he was simply having a very realistic dream.

Surely a family as old as the Potters wouldn’t _need_ Counsel?

At least, that was what he tried to tell his suddenly hopeful heart.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.


	6. Alterations Arc, Part III

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

 _‘Generating form letters is surprisingly difficult.’_   Heather thought with a tired sigh as she set down her pen and stretched.  It was early morning, about a fortnight from her opening the office and hiring Liv, and she had been busy what seemed like every second ever since.

Also, her feelings on slavery aside, Heather had fallen in love with her newly hired House Elf, Tansy.

The little thing had been caught out, accidentally, by Liv, who had hit her with a stunning spell.  Liv had put up a few proximity words just outside the wards of the office nearest to her flat, and had snuck up on the little elf accidentally, thinking there was an intruder.  Once Tansy had been revived, she had tearfully admitted to having noticed the lack of a House Elf bonded to the office and she had been stealing tiny bits of magic over the past few days to help keep herself alive, as she was very near death.

When asked why, Tansy had bawled loudly, and sobbed out that she had ruined her former mistresses’ favorite dress on accident just before the biggest summer ball of the season, something which had resulted in her being given clothes. 

Liv had asked Tansy why she hadn’t gone to Hogwarts, and Tansy had been mildly offended. 

_“House Elfs, wes has our owns ways.”  Tansy sniffled out rather crossly.  “Ise is a Family Elfs, Ise not being able to survive on regular magics.”_

Heather took that to mean Family Magic, something she had learned was not spoken of in polite conversation.     _‘The first rule about fight club is that you don’t talk about fight club, and all that.’_   She had taken from the somewhat stilted conversation with Bixbite. 

Liv could stay in the office thanks to the Family Magic incorporated into the wards and the stern wording of her employment contract, but even she wasn’t allowed to hear even the barest explanations of what little Bixbite knew of the Potter Family Magics, which wasn’t much _at all_.  The Family Magics had actually warmed Heather’s ring hot enough to blister her finger and lashed out. Thankfully Bixbite had reacted swiftly, silencing Heather and sending Liv out of the office so no one was really hurt- save for Heather’s poor finger- but it had been an eye-opening lesson.

It had made for an interesting and informative Tuesday, at least.

At any rate, Heather had asked Tansy if the little elf would like to work for her and, after some wailing and negotiating, Tansy had become a House of Potter Elf.

It was Tansy who had noticed that there were other Potter Elves.  According to the excited little thing, once there was a full Lord or Lady- Heather flirted with the idea of abdicating the position of Heir to Harry _at least_ six times a day- the currently bonded, but hibernating, elves would return from their hibernation deep within the Family Magic.

Harry had gotten very excited, because these would have been the same elves that had served their grandparents- and possibly parents- so they were bound to have plenty of stories about them. 

Heather was excited, too, but she was also far too busy to dwell on such thoughts.

Heather had toured most of the properties- including the Potter ancestral home and Liv’s new cottage- with Harry, the Tuesday and Wednesday after opening up the office.

Monday had been spent trying to figure out a system for sorting out the damn mail backlog.

Apparently most Potter properties used Family Magic as the base for their wards and thus the Family Rings could find them.  There were some that Heather could sense but couldn’t ‘find’, and some properties she had been able to ‘find’ but Bixbite had needed to do some Stoneblood magic in order to form a Location-Key.

Not a _wizarding_ ‘ _Portkey’_.

It had taken some trial and error, some written instructions from Bixbite, and Heather’s ring but they had found the wardstones to the properties and transferred them all into an active state.  Heather had then meticulously gone through the permissions- sometimes they were a magically generated list from directly taping into the wards with her Heir ring, sometimes they were a cleverly hidden book with a dedicated Blood Quill- and removed everyone but herself, her brother, and Bixbite- who had sent along what amounted to a magical wards permission slip- from the list.  

Also, Blood Quills stung something _fierce_.

Harry had been bored, but patient, as he understood how important the task was.  On a related note, he had gotten bored with colored pencils and upgraded to water paints.  His creations were…..interesting.

Meh, he had fun with them.  That was all that mattered.

Thursday afternoon Liv had relocated to a ‘small’- magic made the outside of a place rather subjective- Potter cottage that was just a little south of Tywyn, in Wales.  It was nestled on a small hill, with a pristine lake not too far away and Heather was rather jealous of the quiet and calm of the place, actually. 

Heather had authorized a Floo connection, but had insisted on a password and that the Floo be connected outside of the ‘core’ wards, in a little pottery-slash-woodworking shop.

Heather was a tiny bit paranoid, but thankfully Liv had been gracious, even given the fair bit of uphill walking she’d have to do to get home every evening. 

Actually, the young woman had cried for fifteen minutes, thanking Heather profusely all the while, and offering to commute to Diagon via the Knight Bus every day, despite even the magical Bus taking nearly an hour to get from Tywyn to the Leaky Cauldron.

On a related note, Apparition was a no-go for pregnant women, and Side-Long Apparition was not recommended for children under the age of five.  Portkeys were similarly frowned upon for pregnant women or toddlers.  The Bus wasn’t recommended to heavily pregnant women, but with the right safety charms was fine for babies, if a little bumpy; and that really only left the Floo for the late months of Liv’s pregnancy, which was at about twenty weeks or so at the moment. 

Apparently magic meant women started showing earlier, who knew?

Thus Heather’s concession of the Floo in the first place.

After her tours, Heather had Bixbite and Liv busy researching magical construction companies so that the extensive damage to some of the properties could be properly fixed up.  Even Liv’s cottage needed some work done, though Liv had been insistent that the minor damages could be fixed much, much later.  Heather had reluctantly agreed, only because none of the damages seemed to be structural.

Heather had still requested Bixbite have a professional inspection done, though.

Almost all of the properties had been stripped bare, which Heather hoped meant that the stuff was in the Vaults. 

The ingredient farms- some were just plants, some were just animals, there were several of both- were fairly wild, and Heather had been grateful that she and Harry had been inside a sort of ‘cocoon’ as they walked towards the wardstones and back.

On the bright side, a ton of rare ingredients and such were on the lands, just by what Liv could identify Harry’s animated descriptions.  On the downside, the lands- and their attached cottages for the workers- were essentially wild and would take effort and money to be put back to rights.

Life just couldn’t be simple for once, could it?  And Heather had thought dealing with Petunia had prepared her for just about anything.

 _Ha_!

Even just a few weeks into her tenure, Bixbite had already served her first major coup as Manager; taking two other Managers before the Gringotts Council and proving that they were complicit in theft against the House of Potter. 

When Heather had asked if she should be worried about the wizards involved retaliating against her and Harry, Bixbite had smiled savagely and said that for the wizards to do so, they would have to make an admittance of guilt.  Which would place them in a prime position for fines and other judgements on Heather’s behalf through Gringotts, something Bixbite had already filed the paperwork for, in triplicate.

 _Let them try._   Bixbite had written, her lines sharper than usual.  _And I will bury them, Heiress._

They could pursue the situation through the Wizengamot, but to do so they would need to unseal the Potter Will, to prove the passage of ownership.  The Will had been sealed by a two-thirds, majority vote on the Wizengamot in an emergency session on November first, 1981. 

Bixbite had been working tirelessly to unseal the Will- James and Lily had had a joint Will, they had found out that much- from Gringotts’ end, but she was being religiously stonewalled, even after her victory in the Council.

After the twins returned to Hogwarts, Bixbite would be putting out ads to fill the caretaker positions on the Potter lands.  The wards were strong, and by winter the houses should be fixed up well enough for occupants.  As an added bonus, giving Gringotts until Winter Break to do background checks- having an actual Manager had serious perks- would allow Heather to make much more informed decisions about hiring.

Liv had thus far been a blessing, but Heather had learned her lesson and wanted a much more thorough vetting process for this next go ‘round.

Bixbite and Heather were both keenly interested in getting the Potter lands back up and producing merchandise once again.  With magic being so versatile, magical plants and magical creature products were the backbone of the economy.  And in fact, the sudden decline in the Potter family had caused the middle class working folk no small amount of financial discomfort, as it had tilted the balance of economic power uncomfortably.

_“The Potters, at one point, supplied roughly forty percent of Diagon and Horizont’s fresh product.”  Bixbite had written in the margins of a financial report.  “And they often allowed smaller families to sell their own wares in Potter shops, for a rather paltry commission fee.  All the Potter shops closed in late ’79, and the few businesses that remain are rented space.  Specialist shops- such as the Apothecary in Whimsic or two of the smaller bookstores in Horizont.”_

There were several shops Heather wanted to open, and they had the vacant buildings to do so, but she needed to work up to that.

One of the last things Heather had done during her hectic fortnight, was retain a solicitor and a barrister for the House of Potter.  The recommendation had originally come from Mr. Leif- who was an ICW Enforcer, sort of like an Auror, but internationally.  Heather had written Connie _and_ gotten Bixbite to look into them as well, but they both had respectable reputations, if complaints from the likes of the Malfoys and Averys.

The two men, Reginald and Nigel Montfort- who amusingly fit the tall, dark, and handsome bill to a tee, though Reginald had grey streaks in his hair- were rather pleased to be offered offices in the Potter building on Vertick.  Reginald had been operating out of a tiny office on the corner of Knockturn and Diagon since 1947, and the ability to work out of such a distinguished location, so long as they took no cases that conflicted with the Potter interests, was practically a dream come true.

Or so he said.  Time would tell.

A solicitor was much like what Heather remembered of attorneys, while a barrister was sort of like the law professor, experienced lawyer type who argued with the high courts- like the Supreme Court in Before- and litigated groundbreaking cases.  They were similar, but not quite precisely the same, thus her retaining them both.

But an ounce of prevention and all that.  Because life usually never took the path of least resistance for her, no matter how hard she tried to keep the peace.

And, it wasn’t like they were going to be bored.  There were plenty of Potter issues to happily tie up their little law-abiding minds for years.  The ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ books being only a small fraction of that.  Granted, most of the cases would have to wait for Heather to become Lady Potter- or for her to cheerfully shuck the burden off onto Harry-  but the Potter interests were not solely confined to the Isles, and international wizarding law was complex and not easily challenged.

The general goodwill from allowing the two men to work out of the Potter Offices would also help cultivate a positive image for the twins, as much as she hated thinking such things.  According to the two men, the likes of Lucius Malfoy and his ilk had long been getting cases dismissed on the basis that the Montforts had no noble patronage and therefore they were unfit to argue a case before the Court of Nobles.  So having the Potter name backing them would allow the Montforts a great deal of lateral freedom that galleons from Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t be able to easily solve.

Turned out, the Potter Wizengamot votes stemmed from their hereditary seats on the Court of Nobles, the modern incarnation of the Council of Nobles.  The Wizengamot was comprised of fifty members, however not all seats were created equal. And an Heir or Lord was not allowed to be sentenced by the Wizengamot.

It made Heather’s head throb painfully, just trying to wrap her mind around the complicated system.  Not to mention her internal quandary as to how Sirius ended up in Azkaban.

So there was plenty of prep work to be done.  And she had requested they look into Sirius’ trial, just to see if he’d gotten one at all.

As far as the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ books and paraphernalia, Harry hadn’t been half as offended by the books existing as he had been that they hadn’t mentioned Heather, which had made her laugh harder than she had in _weeks_.

There were plenty of legal matters that were far less amusing, though.  Like the plethora of knock-off ‘charities’ and such using either Harry’s name or their mother’s name, most of which were shadowy, dark money type affairs.

Reginald was fairly gleeful about the challenge, assuring Heather that there were plenty of delightful little loopholes for him and his grandson to work through on her behalf, without them overextending the limited amount of freedom Heather had, thanks to Gringotts’ financial laws.

There were some things that the duo couldn’t pursue until they had a recognized Guardian, which wouldn’t be until after the Will was unsealed.

_“The product of a horde of high-handed, logic deficient legislation, I’m afraid.”  Reginald had murmured to her once he had looked over her proposed to-do lists.  “But as you are officially an Heir- a peer, despite your young age- their own rules prevent them from much of the run around tactics they favor so heavily.”_

Heather had taken a ‘break’ on Saturday, and she and Harry had gone to see an Eye Healer.  Heather still needed glasses, but Harry’s vision had been easily within the range of what Heather privately termed ‘magical contacts’. 

It was a solution made from three different potions that was then poured directly onto the eye and overlaid with complex magic.  It was expensive, the potions themselves costing nearly three hundred galleons all together, but Harry would only need to come back for yearly checkups and his pretty eyes would be permanently free of glasses.

Heather wondered why their father had still had glasses.  Maybe his eyesight had been worse?  Heather’s eyesight was right on the edge of what they could correct with the treatment, so it was possible.

Ok, so _maybe_ Heather had been willing to spring for Harry’s contacts, but had been fine with waiting for the Potter Vaults to start making money to get her own.

Yes, the Vaults had already gained enough money back to cover all that they had spent thus far, just from Bixbite arguing the proper rent and rightful business profits back to them- including back payments and a hefty fine or three- but Heather was nothing if not fiscally cautious.

Harry came stumbling into the room, squinting at Heather suspiciously. “Did you not sleep, _again_ , or did you wake up really early?”

“Woke up super early.”  Heather admitted around a yawn.  “My mind just won’t quiet down.  And there’s _so much to do_ before we head off to Hogwarts.”

Harry scowled churlishly. Crossing his arms huffily and all but demanding.  “We’re going to find our pets today.”

“Harry-“  Heather began wearily, only for Harry to cut her off.

“No, Heather-feather.  You’ve been barely sleeping for _weeks_.”  He said firmly, arms crossed as he glared down at her fiercely.  “I _know_ you’ve got a lot on your mind, and you want to get a lot of this straightened out before we head off to Hogwarts, but you need to relax for a while.”  Sensing Heather was about to protest, Harry broke out his sad puppy eyes.  “Please?”

Heather sighed heavily and closed the book in front of her.  Truthfully she felt exhausted and wrung out and she missed spending time with Harry, even if he was usually around her while she read through Potter related books and documents like a madwoman.  “ _Alright_.”  She conceded with a smile.  “You win little brother.”

Harry did a ridiculous happy dance and tackled her into a hug, which tipped over her chair and landed them both on the floor, breathless and laughing.

**\---XXX---**

Heather was not surprised when a majestic, snowy white owl landed on Harry’s shoulder and preened his hair primly.

The future- Hedwig was as lovely as Heather had imagined.  Her eyes were _gorgeous_.

Heather did not expect, however, Harry’s hesitation.

“What’s wrong, Har-bear?”  Heather questioned when her brother turned troubled eyes onto her, his fingers running nervously over future Hedwig’s pristine feathers.

“Well.”  Harry said somewhat nervously as future-Hedwig dismissed Heather’s presence and went back to her preening of Harry’s hair.  “I-just-that is-“  He verbally floundered, causing Heather’s brow to crease in worry.

“What is it, Har-bear?”  Heather asked, worried.  The cacophony of noise inside the shop was only tolerable because the building was fairly cool.  Otherwise Heather would be overheated and crabby.

“Can-we-get-her-as- _our_ -owl-because-I-want-a-puppy-I-saw-in-London.”  Harry blurted out in a single breath.

“Come again?”  Heather said dryly, trying to translate the verbal mess.

“I read in one of the books Madam Connie gave us that siblings can have a shared owl as well as their personal pets.”  Harry managed eventually, scuffing the toe of his trainers on the shop floor.  “I went back out to the pet store around the corner from the Leaky- before you get mad, I asked Mr. Leif to go with me!  You were doing the solicitors interview-thingies!- and there’s a….puppy there that I really want.” He looked away from Heather to the future-Hedwig, gently scratching her under her break.  “I’m really attached to her too, though.  I picked out a name and everything!”  Harry smiled ecstatically.  “Hedwig.”

Heather nearly laughed incredulously.

**\---XXX---**

‘ _The more things change, the more they stay the same.  Sometimes.  I hope._ ’  She thought wryly as she watched Harry introduce his Golden Retriever, a sweet older dog named Mallie, to the standoffish Hedwig that afternoon, back at their room at the Siren.  Tansy had popped off and dug out a lightweight harness for the lovely Hedwig from the Potter Vaults sometime between Heather calling her to ‘please take the owl paraphernalia back to the Siren’ and them arriving back themselves.

Mallie had been given to the pet store after her owner had died, and her prospects of getting adopted out hadn’t been very good, despite her being a loveable, even-tempered, intelligent lady.

Harry, however, had fallen in love with the sunshine-colored dog at first sight and had gone back to visit her several times.

Heather had refrained from scolding him, because he _had_ asked their watcher to go with him every time.  And she trusted Connie’s judgement enough to realize the woman would not have knowingly assigned someone untrustworthy to watch over them.

And Mr. Leif had been nothing but nice to them.  It also helped that he was rather sarcastic and had a very tongue-in-cheek sense of humor that somehow reminded her of Gramps.

Speaking of which, she needed to send the Pritchards their letter.  She and Harry kept a notebook and they sent letters to their adopted family every few months or so.  They were both terrible at regular letter writing, so it was the best they could manage.

Even as a cat person, Heather thought Mallie was wonderful and deserving of much praise.  Tansy had just popped back in with an animal collar for Mallie- though it was made for a different animal, as the wizarding world only really had crups as dogs- and then a pretty, sparkly collar for Heather’s new kitty, Chromie.

Chromie was a light blonde and white Maine Coon, something which had been close to Heather’s heart, as her furbabies from Before had also been Maine Coons.  At any rate, Chromie had a white triangle patch down her front, a number of white stripes around her longwise, a fluffy squirrel-like tail, three white ‘socks’, and bright green eyes.  What had kept Chromie from getting adopted was that she had a rather lame foreleg, the one without a ‘sock’.

She had gotten stuck as a newborn kitten, and it had done permanent damage to her leg, according to the saleslady.

But she was _so cute_!  And such a _cuddler_!  Chromie had been curious about the room, but had soon hopped back up on Heather’s lap and been making herself an adorable menace ever since.

Heather had forgotten how much she had missed having a furry companion.  And with magic, the least favorite parts were far less annoying!

**\---XXX---**

Yes, Heather _had_ gotten her robes altered to allow Chromie to comfortably hitch a ride.

Harry laughed at her, but Mallie trotted faithfully after him everywhere he went, so he didn’t have _any_ room to talk.

Besides, he’d talked her into ignoring her responsibilities for the second day in a row, teasing her with the tempting idea of a surprise that would ‘ease your paranoid little heart’.

 _Brat_.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Leif Nielson had graduated from Durmstrang’s Institute in the mid-seventies.  Immediately afterwards he had applied to be an Enforcer for the International Confederation of Wizards and had summarily been accepted. 

Amusingly enough, the ICW Institute of International Law Enforcement- which was a subdivision of the International University for Advanced Learning- was located on Accord Isle, which was about a hundred nautical miles southwest of the major nonmagical scientific outposts.

So at least Durmstrang’s bitter cold had somewhat prepared him for the climate, though the Isle had been considerably more comfortable.

The Isle was actually fairly fascinating, with multiple little mock-towns for the Enforcers to practice their craft- as well as the other ICW agents.  It was surprisingly interesting to see people of all different backgrounds come together and share bits and pieces- not a whole lot; magicals were fairly paranoid by nature- of their individual cultures and magic styles.

Truthfully, the ICW was fairly understaffed, if one didn’t know about the plethora of ‘squibs’ on the payroll.

‘Squib’ was the derogatory term for someone who could not conduct magic in a traditional manner- i.e., with a wand or heirloom relic. The ICW preferred the term ‘survivors’ or ‘fighters’, though in common conversation they were usually called ‘impossibles’.  Family members of gifted born on the normal side of the divide were also sometimes recruited, and they were usually called ‘adaptable’ or ‘dapts’ in communal banter. 

However, many magical cultures did not rely on a wand, though their usages magic were definitely unique.  Towards that end, the ICW took in ‘impossibles’, who essentially just needed a little extra accommodations made for them, and provided them with support, sometimes adoptive families, and free access to education.  A great deal of the time that education involved how to use their magic, even if a bit unconventionally, and in turn the ‘castoffs’ became a lifeline. 

The ‘dapts’ were usually family members who stubbornly clung to a sibling or child, even after other members of the family had to be Mem-Locked to preserve the Statute.  These ‘dapts’ were deemed too emotionally invested to survive such a thing and still retain their quality of life and as such the ICW did their best to accommodate them.  By offering jobs or research positions somewhere the ICW needed eyes on a situation, but couldn’t afford-at least in terms of manpower- to do themselves.

It was mostly these impossibles and ‘dapts that kept the ICW ahead of the nonmagical tech curve.  Not to say it was all roses and sunshine, as the system took plenty of hard, emotional and mentally intensive work, avid dedication, and personal sacrifice.  But it was a damn sight better than them just sticking their heads in the sand!

At least, Leif was much less disillusioned with the faults in the ICW system after a few months hanging around the Ministry for Magic’s turf.

He’d been injured during a raid on some smugglers- with the nonmagical USSR imploding and the magical governments scrambling to keep up, the border states were rife with such things- early in June.  His entire left side had been crushed pretty badly and they had needed to regrow many of his bones.  While magical healing was _amazing_ , the newly grown bones needed time to settle and harden properly so his supervisor had handed him off to the Intermediary Department, as a favor to a highly decorated, former Enforcer.

Truthfully he had not expected to meet ‘Red Light Rausch’- she’s been a _Master Enforcer_ and part of the elite force that had successfully kept Grindelwald’s forces from interrupting the duel that had finally brought the tyrant down-  and end up babysitting some pre-Hogwarts kids.

But the kids were good kids.  Curious, sort of smart assed, and fairly mature.  Especially the girl.  And the boy had enough of his sister’s sense to just _ask_ Leif to go with him instead of pretending he could sneak away or other little snot nonsense when the sister was tied up at Gringotts or at the Potter office building.

Leif, being the youngest of three kids- all girls- had had a good time with Harry.  He’d given the boy a fair bit of advice about how to help his stressed sister relax and taught him some basic defense stances, along with a tongue-tying jinx and a rubber-knee jinx.  Both jinxes were simple, point-and-say spells, but he’d been impressed with the boy’s quick uptake.  They’d talked a fair bit about being an Enforcer, and Leif had been slightly surprised at how world-wise the kid was already.

When Leif asked him about it, Harry just shrugged and kept walking, hands shoved in his pockets.

_“Heather-feather doesn’t believe in coddling.  I mean, she’s really nice most of the time, but she doesn’t try to pretend the world is always a nice place either.”_

That told Leif _volumes_ about who had done the parenting in whatever household the twins had grown up in.

He’d gotten more attached to his charges than he’d thought.  And after the first few weeks he had noticed that the fairly cheerful, if rather reserved, girl looked to be barely holding it together.  She had dark smudges under her eyes and always seemed to be thinking about at least a half dozen things.  She had frequent headaches- and didn’t even think to ask for a potion, according to Harry- and was rather listless, if determined.

So, Leif and Harry would put their heads together as soon as she’d disappeared off into loo for a bath and plot.

As a slightly paranoid security minded individual, it had been a natural extension for him to mention to Harry the idea of linked security charms.

Harry had gotten extremely excited- he’d woken up before his sister for the first time in all the time Leif had known the twins- and had been eager to distract her for another day.

This was how Leif ended up ushering the twins to a shop in Whimsic, and a guy he knew that could make high-quality identification charms.

If you spoke his language.  And he owed Leif _big_ for pulling his idiot brother’s ass out of the line of fire.  Dude’s little bro was a low-grade Enforcer had gotten caught up in some shite, and had nearly ended up in the ICW prison.

That had been an _interesting_ series of mishaps.

At any rate the twins had ended up with some security devices.  The girl- Heather- had chosen a simple silver design that rested along the curve of her right ear- looked sort of like a dragonfly to Leif, really- while Harry had gotten a silver and dragonhide bracelet, which he felt would be less conspicuous than a ring or necklace.

Leif suspected the fierce looking dragon that appeared to be roaring silver flames as it danced around the scaly leather was just somehow ‘cooler’, but he didn’t call the boy on it.

The two accessories were keyed to each twin, specifically, as well as to each other.  Since the twins had been under no potions or charms when the items were created- and Leif had ensured the wily sucker hadn’t kept any extra blood or hair for himself- the items wouldn’t resonate properly for a potioned or spelled person who was trying to impersonate one of the twins.  The metal of the cuff and the bracelet would turn dull and tarnished, nearly coppery, and it would take an attacker a fair bit of work to get the blood-and-magic bound object off aforementioned twin.  Additionally, if they ingested a potion or were hit with a spell that altered their thought process in a significant manner, the items would _both_ grow cold.

They were far from invulnerable, but the twins had been extremely happy with the added security, despite the price.  Harry had also confided that they had passwords and inside jokes that they never used in public in reserve, just in case, but he greatly appreciated Leif’s thoughtfulness.  Especially as Heather had been stressing out about one or both of them being impersonated, but as the Vaults needed audited before she could find out if there were any heirlooms they might use….

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Heather felt as if time was mocking her.

Because even after taking breaks and outright playing hooky for a few days- Harry was not as sneaky as he thought he was- sleeping better and longer- she had missed having animals!- and spending a day in London proper buying all manner of nonmagical things she wanted to take with her to Hogwarts, it was _still_ just over a week until her and Harry’s birthday.

They had taken Liv and Mr. Leif along as well, of course.

But- her thoughts kept circling back to Quirrell and Gringotts.

Over and _over_ and _over._ Again and again.

Heather had learned that the thirty-first of July was sort of an unofficial holiday, especially this year as it marked the return of ‘Harry Potter’ to the wizarding world.  Shops were having sales and all manner of crowd-pleasing ventures were expected.

Heather was rather bemused that she wasn’t mentioned at all.  As if the whole world had never known she existed.  It was mostly amusing to her- as she _hadn’t_ existed in the original story.  But she had only teased Harry a bit about his ‘celebrity status’ once, as it had truly upset him.  She’d quickly apologized, of course, and he had been quick to tell her that he knew she had just been teasing him.

_“They sell toys with my face on them and have whole books about me, and they don’t even know I have a sister?  A twin sister?”  Harry huffed and buried his face in Mallie’s fur.  “I don’t like any of these people- I mean-  who writes rubbish like that?  Nana would call it ‘red top trash’.”_

At any rate, July the thirty-first was set to be exciting for Diagon.  They were even advertisement in the _Prophet_. 

Heather had gotten a _Prophet_ subscription for the office and had asked Liv to keep them.  Heather planned on starting an archive of the blasted things, if only to hold them accountable for what they printed.

Lookin’ at you, Skeeter. 

But, with the knowledge of the festival-like day coming up, Heather wondered if it hadn’t been the crowds, not Harry himself arriving, that had prompted Quirrell-mort to make his move. Though she had been glad for her notes, as she’d needed to go back over them to refresh her memory about that part.

Stories, for the win!

Still.  That left Heather with a bit of a conundrum.

She had no proof that things were the same here, in this timeline, as they had been in the books.  Or movies even. 

However, she rather doubted that sharing the information with Bixbite would get her thrown into slavery, even if it turned out to be false information.  The Stonebloods took thievery very seriously, and Heather doubted that warning them of a wizard’s attempt to rob them would be entirely unappreciated.

She hoped.

Maybe?

Heather sighed heavily and took a minute to stare in the mirror, her towel firmly wrapped around her and her hair a post-shower mess.

Was she brave enough to try?

Her thoughts circled back around to the beginning of the argument and Heather nearly groaned in dismay.

Stupid brain.

She heard Harry moving around in the common room and sighed heavily.

“Hey, Har-bear?”  She called out after she heard hi muffle a curse.

 _‘Tripped over the Dursley trunk again, I see.’_ She thought, amused.  ‘ _It’s only been in the exact same place for a month, brother dear.’_

“Yeah, ‘feather?”  Harry yawned out as he plopped himself in his chair and started digging in to the breakfast Heather had brought up for him.  She heard Chromie meow and Mallie’s tail wagging, so she supposed she should go feed the animals before Harry fed them half his breakfast.

“You wanna braid my hair today?”  She asked as she walked out of the loo and headed for their pets’ food.

Oh, Hedwig was back, too.  Better grab some treats for that spoiled avian.

“Of-yawn- course!”  Harry replied, shoveling breakfast in his mouth as quickly as possible.

But still slow enough that she couldn’t gripe at him for his manners.

“Brilliant.”  Heather responded with a grunt as Mallie nearly knocked her over and Chromie wound around her ankles, meowing loudly.  “Here you go, you little menaces.”  She told their pets somewhat huffily, but mostly amusedly, as she set their bowls down.  “You know, it’s really going to suck if we get sorted into separate houses.”  She commented as she walked over to the table and took her usual seat.  “Who will do my hair?”

“Who will tell me stories when I can’t sleep?”  Harry rejoined sagely, pointing his spoon at her rather pointedly. 

Heather grimaced lightly.  She and Harry had rarely slept apart from each other.  And while that probably wasn’t entirely healthy, it was comforting.  Especially when they had to stay at Number Four and felt like all they had was each other.  Hogwarts would likely feel much the same, at least for Heather.

Then again, Harry was due to start puberty soon.  And while they had had a few mishaps already- which Heather had handled very matter-of-factly, just like when he’d accidentally wet the bed back in the early days- she had no real desire to harm her brother by not giving him some space to work things out himself.

Er, sort of.

Bad word choice!

“Right?”  Was all she said aloud, absently plucking up another crumpet- which she had always called an ‘English Muffin’ Before- and slathering some butter and honey on it and stuffing it in her mouth.

But that brought up an interesting point.

What House would she get sent to?

She’d been seeing Hogwarts mostly as a looming shadow in the distance.  Always far enough away she had other things to worry about. Most recently Hogwarts had been a deadline she was trying to beat, an encroaching cutoff date that made everything she was trying to learn and do seven times as stressful as normal.

But Hogwarts would be her home, for the better part of the next seven years.  Well, Harry was home, but she would be tied down to Hogwarts and its grounds for over ten months out of twelve.

Which meant whatever House she was sorted into- and whether she and Harry were sorted into the same House- a genuine concern.

She didn’t think she would qualify for Slytherin.  Sure, she _could_ be sneaky, but she wasn’t particularly enthused about being sly, and had no real ambition past seeing her brother happy and healthy.

Ravenclaw, maybe.  But if that talking Hat put her in a House that gave out riddles to get inside the door she’d set it on fire.  She was forgetful enough, thanks.  No need to be annoyed by a stupid riddle-asking door every time she needed to grab something from her dorm.

Seriously, there would be fire.

She supposed she might be a Huflepuff candidate.  She wasn’t much for hard work- she _hated_ running- and she was fairly loyal.  But she had a sneaking suspicion Hufflepuffs were friendly and cheery and _social_ and Heather was most definitely not.  Like, she was a fairly glass half-full person, but only if she had enough personal time to recharge her social batteries.  Large groups were not her thing _at all_.

That left Gryffindor.

And, well, Heather was sort of a cowardly human being.  So that might be a problem.

 _Shit_.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Bixbite Goreclaw had never met anyone quite like her Client.

Actually, Bixbite hadn’t thought she would ever be able to fulfill her dream of becoming the Potter Manager in her brother’s place.

Voldemort, may he forever burn in the fires of the Nadírs, had been entirely too willing to murder Stonebloods.  In fact, much of the current grudge against the modern Ministry stemmed from the unconcerned or dismissive response the mudstoned-spined wizards had to the murder of Stonebloods who were killed while out in the world conducting business.  Rather than the whole wand debacle that the shale-eaters liked to bellow on about.

The Stonebloods were still plenty groffed-off about the wand ban, and the denial of their rightful place as equals, but the unanswered blood of their brethren was full-out rage inducing.  And it was only the risk of losing the respect of the international community, and therefore their ICW Financial Council seats, that kept the Stoneblood from outright rebellion.

Bixbite had lost her father, two sisters, and her younger brother to Voldemort and his so-called ‘Death Eaters’.  Unfortunately, due to the granite-dammed treaties, Gringotts could not refuse Vault access to the marked Death Eaters, as that would violate one of the main concessions made in the Statute Treaty.  The Statute Treaty essentially held that Gringotts would serve wizards regardless of their crimes, so long as the wizard never violated _Gringotts law_ on _Gringotts land_.  The murders had not occurred on Gringotts lands and while a theft case- of the loss of valuable assets- might be argued in a Stoneblood court, the Ministry had summarily thrown such cases out as ‘unworthy of our attention’. 

Thus, the Stoneblood were forced to bow to the treaty’s terms and serve marked followers of the ‘Dark Lord’, regardless of the bad blood between them and the wizards.

By the time Lily Potter had vanquished the fiend- though many Stoneblood hadn’t felt that the worthless piece of clay hadn’t had enough soul left to truly die- only Bixbite and her eldest brother, Thrashtalon had been left.  Unfortunately, the family’s accounts had been largely decimated- mostly for paying off people to try and find justice for their fallen clan members- and Thrashtalon had been killed in an Honor Mêlée.

Bixbite had yet to forgive Hazenite for not choosing Thrashtalon, who had loved and doted on her since they were children.  Instead, Hazenite had chosen to entertain a Marriage Proposal from the Hook Clan; forcing Thrashtalon and Griphook to fight.  Then the loose, common stonewhore had married into the Clan of Hook, while Bixbite’s brother’s body had still been being prepared for its return to the earth.

Griphook had taken great pains to rub it in her face, after claiming the family home as his Spoils, that she and her family had, at long last, been brought low. And how he would ensure that she rued the day she had rebuffed his offer of marriage.

The Clan of Hook had been bitter rivals of the Clan of Claw for _centuries_.

It had been Griphook and his clan of mudstone-spines that had pushed for to be a married off to the disgusting Rendstab.  While Bixbite wasn’t _too_ much of a highbrow, compared some other Manager offspring, the lowly tunnler had been dumber than the average slab of gabbro, and twice as dense.

Her extended family- particularly her Aunt Agate- had tried to help, but a lot of the family prestige had come from being the Potter Manager, and it was a hard time for them all.  Then the Clan of Hook had gone to the Gringotts Council and they had given her an expiration date on her freedom. 

A shady, furtive deal that she was still meticulously piling evidence for a case against so she could see full justice done!

Then her Client had come and, despite the killing intent, unpleasant half-truths, and condescending tone of Bixbite’s Clan of Hook escort, Heather Potter had chosen to take Bixbite as her Manager.  True, Bixbite’s Client likely did not realize just _how_ unexpected and rather unheard of it was for there to be a female Manager- especially from a diminished Clan.

However, having gotten to know Heather, Bixbite sincerely doubted that Heather would care much.  The girl was rather shy when not crusading, but she had a sharp mind for profit and a willingness to actually listen to Bixbite’s counsel, a novel relationship dynamic, even for a Manager and Client.

Wizards were stubborn, arrogant idiots who were prone to making disastrous financial decisions, against the advice of their Managers. 

Heather had also been gracious, willingly signing off on Bixbite’s requests to add Gnashchaw- Aunt Agate’s youngest- as her Courier, without a fuss.  Bixbite had also been pleasantly surprised when her Client had thoughtfully rephrased her request for a Vault Audit into something Bixbite could easily work with; effortlessly accepting Bixbite’s limitations and choosing to work around them instead of throwing a fit.

Such a thing seemed unseemly, but it happened at least once a month.  And it was usually grown wizards doing the fit throwing.

Since being named the Potter Manager, Bixbite had been hard at work and had managed to wrangle her family home back from the Clan of Hook, once she had proved to the Gringotts Council that they- specifically Griphook- had been the masterminds behind not only some Potter properties, but a few others, being robbed of their rightful rent.  The only thing that had saved the saboteurs’ lives had been the fact that the people who had been collecting the unworthy rent had not known _precisely_ who rightfully owned the properties. 

There were guesses, but the Ministry records were a disaster and had been since that wizard, MadCap Johnny, had started a magical fire in the Ministry Archives that burned through the unkempt Preservation Wards and consumed almost the entire real estate section and a good chunk of the birth and death records.

Of course, Gringotts would not part with the information without a good deal of red tape and monetary compensation, so the rebuilding efforts had been slow.

Glacial, to borrow one of her Client’s phrases.

However, she now held the rights to her family’s ancestral home and the saboteurs- specifically Griphook- were currently the most talked about, disgraced Stonebloods in recent history.

Bixbite certainly hoped that Griphook would enjoy his time hand-shoveling coal into the bellows that kept the dazzling capitol Stoneblood city of Mus-Gravitia a comfortable sixty degrees Volcana.

At any rate, given a year or so Bixbite would have regained enough credibility and respectability to finally marry that _annoying_ male.  It had been nearly thirty years since he had refused her, on the basis of her age, and she would not be denied again!  Especially not now, when Bixbite could give him her Clan name and her position wouldn’t cause any conflicts of interest.

So, when her Heiress came to her with a ‘dream’ of Gringotts being robbed, Bixbite decided to take her at her word and escalate the situation.

Bixbite’s Client was not prone to lies or half-truths, and whatever the Heiress was lying about was not her _certainty_ that Gringotts was scheduled for a potential robbery.

Bixbite had always done well in her improvisation classes.  And warrior’s might not live forever, but cowards never lived at all.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Heather resisted the urge to pace.  Instead, she leaned against the wall as casually as possible, one foot against the floor, the other tapping a rhythm against the gold running board, doing her level best to seem bored.

She had finally worked up the courage to tell Bixbite about her ‘dream’ of Gringotts being robbed, and Bixbite had immediately dragged them out of the Potter office, down a confusing number of hallways, and had left her standing near the guards to a truly ornate door while she went on ahead, inside.

The door swung open- silently- and a much rougher and lower voice than Bixbite’s bade her to enter.

She gulped.

 _‘I should have remembered to name Harry my heir.’_ Was her last thought before she stepped inside.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Consultant Fangsnarl was Bixbite’s boss.  His office looked much like Bixbite’s, except about five times as large, mostly gold, and having a freaking huge chandelier made of opalescent stone that equal parts scared- it was right about her head- and fascinated- it was very pretty and shiny- Heather.

He was sour, miserly, and more than a little rude, but surprisingly patient as he grilled Heather for ‘details’ of her ‘dream’.

Eventually he snapped out some unfriendly-sounding snarls and Bixbite shepherded her back to the Potter office, where they proceeded to determinedly speak of business and nothing else.

Heather could take a hint.

So business plans were discussed.  In excruciating detail.

**\---XXX---**

Bixbite, who was much less anxious than Heather but still visibly agitated, had been noticeably pleased with whatever message she had received from an invisible-door using Stoneblood who had scared the ever-loving crap out of Heather. 

It had been late in the day- Heather had arrived around eight in the morning- once word had finally been handed down to them.  After doing some Stoneblood magic to the note and then having Heather sign a contract- it was a secrecy agreement, and a fairly reasonable one- Bixbite had finally started filling Heather in. 

With quite a bit more information than Heather had expected, to be honest.

Turned out, while Gringotts had wards against garden-variety ghosts, the wards against malevolent spirits had been inactive for quite some time.  Mostly because, in the Bank, the wards would confuse some forms of Family magic or heirlooms with significant impression- usually magical paintings and the like- as being ‘hostile’. 

Bixbite had gleefully informed her that the last time that particular cluster of wards had been active had been back in the 1910s.  They had been deactivated after an altercation with Headmaster Phineas Black, over something he had placed in the Hogwarts School Vault.

At any rate, they had been deemed more of an annoyance than a help.  Not to mention a profit drain, as for all the labor required to research, then cleanse the wards of unnecessary ‘hostile’ pings and then adjust the ward to not mark the same occurrence during its next active sweep.

Whatever Bixbite had told her boss, however, coupled with Heather’s own testimony, had convinced him to go to his superiors, who had then gone to _their_ superiors, who had then gone to the highest ranking Stonebloods in the Bank.  The highest ranking members of the Bank had then chosen to reactivate the wards, at least until the start of Hogwarts.

Which explained the sound of grinding stone and falling rocks from further inside the Bank about halfway through the day. 

Before Heather had left for the day, Bixbite had recommended that Heather to not return to Gringotts until next summer, unless she received a direct summons.

_“Best to let things run their course, Heiress.”  Bixbite informed her firmly.  “While Stonebloods take our clients’ privacy seriously, the ward reactivating and the traffic to this office will have been noticed.”_

So they had finalized plans for hiring, vetting, and hammered out the details of business models and Heather had bid Bixbite a fond, if somewhat tired, farewell.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

A few days later, Heather and Harry had been enjoying their shared, far too large to be healthy, spread of ice cream in the shade out in front of Floean’s.  It was their eleventh birthday, so they had gotten eleven scoops of ice cream, much to Leif’s amusement. 

Their nominal guard _had_ insisted that they actually eat a bit of brunch first.

Since they had acquired Mallie and Chromie, Heather had had much better luck with sleeping.  Hence the need for brunch instead of breakfast.

Mallie was happily polishing off their brunch remnants from her place on the ground by Harry’s feet, while Chromie was reaching out the occasional paw and attempting to swipe at the nearest bit of ice cream.

She was having about fifty percent success, honestly. 

Chromie’s little buddy pockets were sewn into the left breast side of Heather’s robes, which were sort of like a long jacket over her normal clothes.  The pocket was technically on the inside, but Chromie could poke her head through a little hole to see out the front.  It also made an excellent little paw window, Heather had found.

It was just as they made it halfway through- and were debating asking the highly amused Florean to box up the rest of it for them, they had been dallying over it for _hours_ now- that a Stoneblood messenger had come scurrying over to Heather.

Well, it was little Gnashchaw, Bixbite’s favorite cousin, who Heather had been more than happy to approve as her Manager’s official lackey.

“Manager Bixbite requests your presence at your earliest convenience, Heiress.”  The young Stoneblood had told her quickly, his eyes wide with fright.

Heather was immediately concerned.  “I’ll go at once, Gnashchaw, thank you.”  Heather tossed Harry a look, but he just shook his head at her, his own eyes wide. 

“I’ll take care of this and head back to the Siren, Heather-feather.  Go see what’s so important.”  Harry held out his hands, and Heather obediently passed Chromie over, the little cat not happy, but she grumpily accepted Harry’s sympathetic chin scratches.

Gnashchaw led her through the Alley quickly, and when they reached Gringotts, he nodded to the inner door guards, who opened a hidden door and gestured them both inside.

The quiet, tense walk to wherever they were going seemed to take a small ice age, and when they moved from rough stone tunnels to a hallway that made Bixbite’s boss’ hallway look plain, Heather’s stomach clenched in terror.

Panic was useful in that she was a bit on autopilot, and thus the next thing she realized was happening was Bixbite falling into step with her, Gnashchaw scurrying back the way they had come.

“Manager Bixbite.”  Heather managed to say around the fiery ball of chaotic regret in her throat.

“Heiress.”  Bixbite returned evenly, but there was something viciously gleeful in her voice that settled Heather’s nerves a bit.  Bixbite had sounded much the same the day she had informed Heather of her performance before the Gringotts Council.

Heather latched onto that memory with both hands, a leg, and her teeth, doing her best to edge back away from a full-on panic attack.

They were let into the grand room at the end of the hall, and then Heather’s mind went blank from sheer self-preservation.  The rational side of her being took over the narrative, idly logging observations as her muscles loosened and her eyes snapped to the ancient, stooped Stoneblood in the place of honor.

It looked much like the entrance hall, except grander by a magnitude of at least twenty, with a silent gallery of shrouded observers along the raised stands that ran along the walls.  There were three ancient looking Stonebloods, with age-spotted skin and sharp eyes, seated behind three ornate desks on a raised dais that looked remarkably similar to the High Teller’s booth.

Only much, much more imposing, of course.

And with a silent audience who were happily dissecting her over and over again and finding her wanting.

In her mind, at least.  But she was a bit too keyed up and tired and stressed to fully get a grip.  It was only the thought of somehow making Bixbite look bad in front of her peers that helped Heather keep a calm façade.

“Heiress Potter.”  The little being said in a creaky voice full of power.  “A week ago, Manager Bixbite came to Consultant Fangsnarl with news of your supposed ‘dream’.  As you were no doubt informed, we, the Elders, decided to humor your silly premonition.”  The gaze trained on her was heavy, judgmental, but Heather stood strong underneath the weight of it. 

A moment of silence seemed to stretch on for half of forever, but Heather did not break the stare off she was having with the Stoneblood and she valiantly resisted the urge to fidget.

The Stoneblood to the left of the speaker- this room was a strange parody of the entry hall, now that she thought about it- snorted in dry laughter.  “We did apprehend a human wizard, who had been hosting a malevolent spirit earlier today.”

“The wizard in question immediately requested asylum, which Gringotts granted.” The original speaker continued, glaring at the unrepentant second speaker.  “However, while the wards separated the spirit from its unwilling host before the spirit could kill them, the wards were forced to violently reject the entity before it caused damage to the Bank.”

“Why we are bothering to explain this to an outsider is simple.”  The third Stoneblood said sharply.  “Gringotts takes the crime of thievery very seriously.”  He bared his jagged teeth at Heather.  “And we would very much appreciate any further information you might have as to the identity of this would-be thief.”

Heather simply arched an eyebrow at the Elders.

The second speaker boomed out a laugh.  “Name your price, little wizard.”  They smiled toothily, but no less nastily than the third speaker.  “Gringotts does enjoy a good round of negotiations.”

Time narrowed to a point and suddenly, Heather _understood_.

The Stonebloods were a warrior race.  They thought in terms of battle, honor, and conquest.  So, to them, Heather’s warning required payment, as it had greatly contributed to their recent victory. More to the point, they needed more information from her so they could wage war against the trespasser who had attempted to steal from them.

However, the Stonebloods were also proud, obstinate, and spiteful.  And in keeping with their hatred of wizards they were inviting Heather to make a massive faux paus.  Because only an overconfident _fool_ would think that an outsider would have the right to argue before a warrior’s council as an equal.  By offering to negotiate with Heather directly they were fulfilling the bare minimum their honor demanded while also insulting Heather and, more importantly, _Bixbite_.

It was akin to snubbing the designated diplomat and asking a random Joe Schmoe from the audience to argue a country’s case on the floor of the United Nations.

Well, _screw that_.  Bixbite was amazing.

Heather just really hoped she was reading this situation correctly or they were both in for a world of hurt.

She tossed her braid with a confidence she definitely did not feel and smiled sweetly.  “I am more than willing to provide Gringotts with all the information I have on this subject.”  Heather laid a hand on Bixbite’s tense shoulder.  “However, I am merely a witch, and a fairly uneducated one at that.”  Heather’s smile turned a bit sharper, just a tad too sweet to be genuine.  “Therefore, I will leave the information in the more than capable hands of my trusted Manager, so that she might negotiate on my behalf.”

Something like reluctant respect and careful amusement flittered through the second speaker’s eyes, while the other two began to shout.  The watching eyes in the gallery were like a physical weight against Heather’s shoulders, but she stood tall, her chin lightly tilted up in defiance.  Bixbite straightened importantly and took a step forward answering the rumbling, rough shouting of the two Elders with sharp replies of her own.

Soon enough he Elders and Bixbite had come to an agreement, and Bixbite was efficiently shepherding Heather out of the room and back to the Potter office.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

No sooner had the door to the Potter office shut behind her, Heather’s legs gave out and she sank to the floor, half-sobbing, half-hyperventilating onto her raised knees.

‘ _Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod…’_   Was the general gist of her internal monologue as all the stress finally broke through her resolve.  She didn’t even have enough of her usual composure to feel ashamed for having a panic attack in her Manager’s office.

Eventually Heather became aware of her brother beside her, rubbing soothing circles onto her back while her face was pressed up against his neck.

 _‘Some big sister you are, Heather.’_   She thought angrily at herself, as she dashed the tears away and tried to untangle herself from Harry.

“It’s alright, Heather-feather.  I’ve got you.”  Harry murmured and Heather’s anger broke, like a glass on a concrete floor, and she buried her face back into her brother’s neck.

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, she was blinking her eyes open.  It took a few moments for it all to come back to her, and when she remembered, she felt _so_ _ashamed_ of herself.

Her eyes were strangely light, despite her recent crying jag, and a glass of water was pressed to her lips, which she greedily drank.

“Sorry.”  She rasped out, the words not being nearly as difficult as it should have been.

“Fully grown, blooded warriors have done far worse under the gaze of High Warlord Slashblade and the Elders.”  Bixbite replied firmly, her eyes were understanding and firm when Heather’s tired gaze found them.  “You did well, Heiress.  And you have granted me an amount of respect nearly unheard of for a Manager, let alone a female who nearly was married off to a mere tunneler.”

‘ _Bixbite’s English has gotten much better.’_   Was Heather’s stupid brain’s first thought, and then the rest of the statement caught up to her.  “So, you aren’t angry that I put you in the middle of this mess, Bixbite?  I didn-“

“To negotiate before the Elder Council- which is a council of higher authority than even the Gringotts Council- is a great honor in and of itself.”  Bixbite explained patiently. 

Which was unusual, because while Bixbite was courteous, she was usually rather abrupt. 

Heather opened her mouth, but Bixbite cut her off with a warning glare.  “To negotiate on behalf on my client before the Elder Council is a rare and joyous honor.  Many of my brethren would sacrifice their weapon arms for such an honor.  I will not fail you, Heiress.”

“I never believed you would, Bixbite.”  Heather replied dryly as she leaned heavily into Harry’s side and noticed she had been moved onto the small loveseat at some point.  “You’ve never done anything less than exceptional.  I’m grateful that you’re my Manager.”

Bixbite almost seemed to blush, before she shuffled a few papers around importantly and got down to business.  “So, the information in question?”

She hesitated for a mere moment, but one look at her brother’s expression made her reconsider. 

Harry _deserved_ to know.  She had never treated him like as if he was incapable of understanding that not everything in the world was pure, and it would be harmful for her to begin to do so now.

And really-

Well, she could use his support.  They were a team.  The time for Heather to keep this information to herself was at an end.

“I am nearly _entirely certain_ that the malevolent spirit was actually the main portion of a man’s soul.  Specifically, Tom Riddle’s soul.”  Heather swallowed thickly.  “But you might recognize him better as Lord Voldemort.”

Bixbite snarled, but it was a strangely comforting sound.

Heather disentangled from Harry a little and grabbed a notebook out of her ever-present satchel.  She write out the man’s full name, grabbed her scissors and cut the paper into tiny pieces, and rearranged them.

Bixbite snarled again, deeper and much angrier.

“Yeah.  It kind of gets worse.”  Heather said with a grimace, accepting Harry’s arm around her waist gratefully.  “You see, he split his soul at least three or four times….”

**\---XXX---**

Harry was silent for a long while, Bixbite had set up a silencing ward to give them some time to discuss the new revelations in a semi-secure niche, but she had left the office.  Gnashchaw was standing sentinel by her desk, but the twins were more interested in talking this latest revelation out than snooping.

“Are you-“  Heather started to blurt out worriedly, only for Harry to put a palm over her mouth, laughing when she defiantly licked it.

“I think….I think I get it.”  He said slowly, keeping his hand against her mouth.  “I don’t like it, but I get it.  But-“  Harry’s gaze turned frosty.  “ _Never again._   You hear me, Heather-feather?  I know you want to keep us safe, but so do I.  I-I…don’t know what I’d do.  If you…went on to join Nana Anna.  What would I tell Gramps?  Or Kris and Coach and Maddie?  What about Madam Connie and Mr. Leif?”  Harry’s eyes filled with tears and he threw his arms around her.  “Don’t forget that _we love you as much as you love us_ , Heather-feather.”

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Olivia sat in her quaint little kitchen sipping her morning cup of pregnancy-friendly tea, looking out over the low, rolling hills that ran off into the distance outside her open window.

Heather- her Lady, her boss, her savior- had gotten the tea for her.  Just like this cottage.  Just like her newfound lease on _life_.

It surprised Liv, every day, just how thoughtlessly kind and generous her Lady was.  Liv had never met a person who was so well-off and yet so grounded. 

The cottage, like many magical dwellings, was much larger on the inside than the outside.  The outside suggested a small house of perhaps three or four rooms, but the interior was a split-level comfortable space that could happily house Liv and her child.  Done in warm creams and earthy browns, with accents of maroon, charmingly old-fashioned furniture, and hand-painted murals, Liv _loved_ her new home.

Sure the stove was the old fashioned magical style with two or three enchanted, magically treated porcelain discs that sat on top of a similarly cured stone slab.  Likewise, the oven and the cold box were magically treated and enchanted stone and wood, respectively.  Truthfully they reminded Liv of those split refrigerators, only they were each the size of a linen closet and side by side. Magical sinks were much more basin-like in their design, and even their kitchen sinks were much the same.  Synthesized to be sensitive to common household charms that had existed for centuries, only requiring the barest hint of magic on the control runes to spring into action.  It amused Liv that magicals used bar soap for their dishes, but she couldn’t deny the potion’s effectiveness.

The master loo held a fairly enormous claw foot tub that held a fair few taps.  It was one of Liv’s favorite things and had a killer view of sunsets or the stars.  Thankfully- for efficiency’s sake- the common loo held a shower.  A luxurious shower that had special taps made for those little square blocks of high end hair conditioners or skin moisturizing creams, but a shower nonetheless.

And her Lady considered Liv living here a ‘service’ to the Potter family and therefore refused to allow Liv to pay rent!  It was _ridiculous_!  Heather was steadfast in her refusal and even _insisted_ on fixing up the few small, minuscule cosmetic problems that faulty charms or thinning enchantments had caused.

Liv grimaced as her child shifted, kicking her in the kidneys.  Or, at least, that was as best as Liv could describe the sensation.

The closer she came to her due date the more active her baby became and the more wild Liv’s magic started to become.  It was to be expected, but annoying, as she could do very little to help her Lady.  Sure Liv helped with the backlog of mail and the research of construction firms, but a lot of the latter had to go through Bixbite for approval before Liv really could do anything with the information. And the Manager was rather tetchy about Liv stepping on her toes, which Liv entirely understood.  For the former, well, Liv kept a careful record and sorted the mail into piles of what should be answered first and made little notations and suggestions, but that was about it.

Busywork, mostly.

The response letters were to be sent out in sizable batches, starting next week, the first full week of August.  They had actually made quite a bit of headway, as many of the letters were from the same people, just year after year.  Tedious work perhaps, but with her Lady’s form letters and the twins sharing the load, they had made considerable headway. 

Heather was toying with the idea of taking the various gifts and messages left at the Potter home in Godric’s Hollow and many of the stories sent in over the years and making them into a sort of memorial museum, possibly in Diagon.  Mostly to share the stories and to also point out that while Lily Potter may have vanquished Voldemort, it had been the everyday actions of so many others- like the Bones family or the Prewett twins- who had largely been forgotten by the public, but Heather felt should be remembered.

_“It isn’t just the person who shouts the loudest who gets the people to listen.”  She hiccupped tearfully as she read one of the stories sent in, about a brother who died protecting his sister. “But all the smaller voices along the way who gave them the courage to shout out all the louder in the first place.”  Heather’s lips firmed as she let the tears fall freely. “They- they deserve to be remembered, too.”_

Amazing.

Her Lady was also insistent that Liv mostly concentrate on studying for her NEWTs once Hogwarts began.  Heather reasoned that the twins would be in school and the Montforts would likely acquire secretaries of their own- though Liv was certainly welcome to assist them if asked.  More to the point, Liv could take the exams next spring, and then she would have her NEWTs, if not a Hogwarts certificate.

Later, as Liv stood in front of her- thankfully silent- mirror and twisted her hair around her head with her wand, she considered what Harry had told her when Heather had nodded off over the letters they were working on.

 _“Heather-feather’s always been a bit anxious in big crowds or in big confrontations.”  He muttered quietly as he slipped a small throw pillow from a nearby bench under Heather’s head, easing the letter shed been writing out from under her as he did so.  “But since we arrived here, she’s been trying to learn everything all at once, as if she’s trying to fix_ everything _that’s ever gone wrong with the Potter finances before school starts.” He shook his head sadly and smoothed the blanket Liv had conjured a little more snugly around his sister’s form.  “Her mind just won’t stop and even that stresses her out!  She barely sleeps and either she forgets to eat or she eats a whole bunch all at once.”  He frowned as he stepped back a bit and crossed his arms.  “I want to help, but I’m not sure how.”_

Well, as Heather’s personal assistant, Liv had a few ideas.  Perhaps she could pass a few onto Harry….. 

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――


	7. Alterations Arc Part IV

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

The twins spent the fortnight after their stressful birthday, largely holed up at the Siren with Chromie, Hedwig, and Mallie.  Or at the Potter office- with their animal companions tagging along- in Vertick, sifting through the backlog of mail with Liv; usually in the small gazeebo in the small garden that Tansy was happily restoring to rights, since Heather had pulled it out of the ether. 

Tansy, incidentally, grew very offended if the twins and Liv did not eat her food.  And snacks.  And elevensies.  And tea.

Truthfully they only went back to the Siren to check in with Mr. Leif.   By the end of the first week they had officially ‘checked out’ and Mr. Leif would usually join them for lunch at the Potter office, sometimes with Harry begging off for a break afterwards, choosing to go with the older man to escape letter-writing.

Well, Hedwig came and went pretty regularly, too, as she got plenty of exercise as their official courier. 

But the twins had managed to get quite a bit done. 

Especially in regards to the backlog of mail, as Liv suddenly had some free time, since Bixbite was too busy with Stoneblood business for English practice sessions.  So Liv could duplicate the originals of the form letters- onto actual parchment with new ink, not conjured items; lest they randomly disappear Liv explained- leaving Heather or Harry free to add a personal note to the end, just to give it a dash of personalized sincerity.

Liv’s easy magical adaptation of Heather’s rudimentary organizational system helped keep things flowing rather smoothly.

_“Magic is so cool.”  Harry muttered as Heather taped the runes along the edge of the warmer that kept the special Potter Sealing Wax malleable._

The Potter Sealing Wax, thankfully, had been made in bulk by Potters past, and so Heather only needed to skip on down to the vaults to grab a block of it.  ‘Block’ was a bit misleading as it looked more like a bread loaf than those little scent blocks that Heather had first thought of when she heard the term, but the Office had a tray for a brick of it to settle in- with a tapered edge for easier application.  The Post Seal- which sort of reminded Heather of a scrapbooking stamp crossed with a cattle brand- had been in the Vault, near the keys; and the twins took turns using it to properly seal the masses of letters.  

Liv and the Montforts would eventually be assigned their own Seals, once Bixbite had some free time and the Authorized Seals from the Vaults could be ‘cleansed’ and then reassigned.

It was all very secretive and paranoid.

Heather heartily approved, despite the minor inconveniences.

The Montforts had been added to the wards, but they were still several days out from taking up regular residence in their offices, which were near the entrance to the office building. For now they had been sent out with a reasonable budget to buy updated law books.  It had taken some concentration, but Heather had eventually found the office library- which was thankfully still stocked- and pulled it out of the ether.

Excellent resources, naturally, but a bit out of date for the moment. 

It was in the basement, actually, and Heather hadn’t told anyone that she could actually allow books to be removed from it.  Well, except Harry, who had full permissions, like she did, her ring just made it easier.   Harry had agreed with her paranoia, though, and since the twins were well aware of the fact that they didn’t know the true value of the tomes, they chose to play it safe.  There was a section that was only accessible to the Potter twins themselves, but Heather hadn’t wanted to explore it until they had some experience with magical libraries- such as the one at Hogwarts- just in case.

For now they were going to handle their own administrative needs-or ask Liv to help- but depending on the volume of work they found themselves with, they might need a secretary or an assistant researcher or two come the Christmas Holidays.

Heather, of course, had to approve such a thing.

For now the office wards remained closed to anyone who wasn’t on Heather’s short list, which allowed the twins to essentially live there.  But before they traipsed off to Hogwarts, she would change the wards to accept specifically invited visitors into the ‘communal’ areas of the office.  

She wasn’t going to open up the wards for the public to access the entryway freely.  She wasn’t _stupid_.

**\---XXX---**

Gnashchaw eventually delivered news of the fate of Quirrell.

“According to Bixbite.”  Heather summarized to her companions, enjoying the break in the cycle.  “The man who was caught hosting V’s soul- Quirinus Quirrell- has been cleared of charges.”  Heather made a face at the note.  “Technically.  Sort of.  He was found to be an unwilling host and requested sanctuary from Gringotts upon the spirit being removed from his body.”  Heather sent Harry a wry grin.  “However, he _has_ been fined heavily and he has er, _agreed_ to work for Gringotts for the next ten years at reduced pay once his year at Hogwarts is done. “

Liv’s employment contract meant she was safe to hear this information, hence Heather’s reading the letter aloud.

Heather skipped the part about the man being seen by a Gringotts-bound Healer at great personal expense, as that was sort of unspoken.  Bixbite confided that, by himself, his testimony wouldn’t have been worth much, and so that was why he was let off fairly lightly.   And Gringotts had already announced that the attempted thief had been a spirit, so no one even knew of Quirrell’s involvement, save for Voldemort and Gringotts.   Yet another strategic advantage for Gringotts, according to Bixbite’s optimistic tone.

Heather couldn’t see all of it, but whatever kept the Stonebloods happy.

“So he’s going to be our teacher?”  Harry asked somewhat skeptically, still methodically stamping seals on completed letters before handing them off to Liv.  “Our _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ teacher?”  He added sarcastically.

“Apparently.”  Heather mused as she skimmed the rest of the missive- Bixbite was still preparing her case for the Elder Council and it would be October before she presented it, just for maximum mileage- and set it down for Liv to vanish.  “I guess we’ll see if he learned anything from the experience.”

“Hmph.”  Harry grumped moodily.

“Let me tell you about my first DADA Professor….”  Liv began to tell them conspiratorially, banishing a stack of finished letters and tackling a new pile of unsorted ones from the vault.  “Good ‘ole Professor Cabbot…”

**\---XXX---**

Truthfully, they didn’t spend _all_ of their time working on the letters.  Or even half.  More like a quarter or less.

Mr. Leif was an amazing teacher- when he felt like it- and Harry insisted they start reading their course books, as they had finished the primers Connie had directed them towards.

Heather had learned that wand movements- and wands in general- came from Greece and the Romans.  Wand movements had come about from the emphasized syllables in Ancient Greek- later, Latin- for the original incantations to spells that required staffs. Over time, as staffs fell out of favor for the more efficient, easily concealed wands- and therefore people beginning to use pre-designed spells at all.

There were ten wand movements- flick, jab, point, roll, swirl, swish, tap, twirl, twist, and wave- to correspond to each Roman Numeral, which had been how the Romans had calculated their innovative spells. 

The Romans had been the first to tailor spells for specific purposes- such as stunning a person, or the Avada Kedavra- instead of using large-scale, mostly elemental magic that required lengthy incantations and power from many magicals to cast- mostly from slaves or prisoners, who did not usually survive the event.  The pre-made spells were easily tailored and much quicker, able to be taught to groups of people at a time instead of the usual Master-Apprentice style of teaching or the specialized teachings at temples.

Thus, the Roman Empire’s Battlemages were born and their legacy would far outlast their memory.

Modern magicals had refined the process, and languages had come and gone, but the basis of the original spells still had quite the impact on modern spells and how they were created _._

_“You also have to take into consideration spells spoke in a different language than Latin.”  Mr. Leif lectured the wide-eyed twins after running them through their wand movements on morning, just before lunch and the Afternoon of Letter Writing.  “People try to shortcut and cut-and-paste- and it’ll work……sometimes.  The Old Tongues of Power are the only ones that can be used for spellcrafting.  Almost all of the modern languages- even as far back as the twelfth or thirteenth century- drifted too far from the Old Tongues to be able to carry magic.”_

_“Like modern notebook paper versus parchment?”  Harry asked curiously, reaching back down to pet Mallie when she licked him.  Chromie was happily sprawled on Heather’s lap, purring and ignoring the world while the twins sat in the sunshine of the garden and Mr. Leif lectured._

_“Pretty much!  Good call, kid!”  Mr. Leif told Harry with a grin and a quick hair ruffle.  “Anyways, you ever run into- say a Baltic-Slavic Spell that was made properly.  From Baltic-Slavic script and with the corresponding numerical base.  Get hit with, say, a tongue-tying jinx like that and a Finite Incantatem- the Latin general counter-spell- isn’t going to do much, it anything.  You’ll have to buy a counter from someone who knows that sort of magic or make one.”_

_“That.”  Liv said dryly, an annoyed look on her face.  “Would have made my Hogwarts career so much easier.”_

_“They didn’t teach you that at Hogwarts?”  Mr. Leif asked her, eyebrow raised in surprise.  “They taught us that as First Years at Drumstrang.  Mostly so we’d understand the difference between the spells that came from Latin and those that did not- different schools of thought entirely, really- but- really?  They didn’t mention it at all?”_

_“Really.”  Liv affirmed sourly, shuffling piles of letters around.  “Not even in Arithmancy or Runes.  I took them both.”_

_“Huh.  Weird.”  Mr. Leif commented with a shrug before changing the subject._

At any rate, they hadn’t really learned any spells, but Heather felt far more prepared.  And it was a ton of fun, something she and Harry could do together that wasn’t friggin’ replying to decade old letter,  _and_ didn’t require her to go out into the Alley and be surrounded by people.

Win, all the way around!

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Arcturus Black the Third knew he was dying.  And he was well aware of the fact that Cassiopeia, his current Heir, wasn’t all that far behind him.

But Cassie was the last Black, and he would be dammed if he gave the spawn of any of the lesser lines the privilege of being Lord Black.  He had been fairly fond of Cissy when she had been a child, but she did not possess the innate strength to handle the full weight of the Black Family Magic. 

And that lesser spawn of Abraxas that she had married hadn’t helped anything, either.  If only the two elder boys had survived!  Lucius was a mere _fraction_ of the man his grandfather and brothers had been.  The younger boy and Abraxas’ girl had been smart to flee the country, if only to give proper heirs of the Malfoy line time to grow, so that Lucius’ kin-slaying would not go unpunished!

What that fool Cygnus had seen in Lucius Malfoy, out of all of the suitors who had competed for Cissy’s hand, Arcturus would never understand.

The Black Family Magic was dangerously potent.  Intoxicating.  It took a strong constitution and an even stronger will to keep it from being in control, instead of vice-versa.  Properly disciplined, it was an incredible asset, a steadfast friend in times of trouble, capable of doing truly wondrous things.  But left unchecked and wild, the magic became corrupted, caustic, and supremely dangerous to wielder and foe alike.

One only had to look to the differences between Bellatrix- the most feared witch in the past hundred years; and Andromeda- one of the most accomplished Healers in the same span of time.

Oh how far his House had fallen.  How foolish he had been to simply sit back and watch, instead of taking a much firmer hand in things!  He never should have allowed things to come to this.

If he was dying, why was he at Gringotts?

His Manager had sent him a missive that there had been, after more than a decade, a credible lead on who had killed Regulus.

Arcturus prayed it hadn’t been Sirius, as Cissy and Bella had claimed in the aftermath of Regulus’ portrait going dark. 

Sirius and Regulus had been thick as thieves until Orion had fallen ill and Walburga- may she rot in Tartarus!- had become their primary parent.  Arcturus regretted many things, but his greatest regret was his grandsons, and how little he had done to prevent their fates.  Regulus had disappeared and Sirius had been condemned to Azkaban by the motley crew he had turned his back on the Family for.

However, as he stiffly made his way into the room, he cursed himself.

“Longaxe, you said _credible_ information.”  He wheezed as sternly as he could.

“Yes, Lord Black.”  His longtime Manager replied patiently.  “I assure you that this information is information you will want to hear yourself.”

Or at least, patiently for Longaxe.

“Well.”  Arcturus growled at the two children- were they Dorea’s grandchildren?  What were they doing here?  And what would they know about Regulus?!- and the woman Goblin.  “Out with it.”

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

It took Heather plenty of patience- _“Do you not think I would have questioned my own House Elves, girl?”-_ but eventually the old man had snapped out an annoyed “Kreacher!”

The House Elf that appeared was even more pitiful than Heather had imagined.  Especially after bright, vivacious Tansy.

“Old Master calls?”  The pathetic little thing croaked out.

“You will answer the girl’s questions unless I say otherwise.”  Arcturus ordered gravely, sitting back to glower at the twins.

Heather rose from her seat, walked around the table, and knelt down in front of Kreacher, who only growled uncomplimentary things and glared at her, as if she was the dirt on the bottom of his- er, feet.

Shock and awe it was, then. 

 _Jackass_.

“I want to hear the story of brave Master Regulus and the Locket he gave you to destroy.”  She said primly, weathering the little being’s verbal abuse as he tried to struggle against the Lord’s orders.

“I want to help destroy it.”  Heather continued gently, seeing the damage Kreacher was doing to himself.  “Vol-the Dark Lord who made it killed my parents, and he’ll likely come after my brother.  I want to protect him.  So destroying the locket that brave Master Regulus got in that cave is important to me, too.”

Kreacher glared at her suspiciously, visibly struggling against the contradicting commands- the one from Arcturus and the one from Regulus- but eventually he gritted out the story.

By the end of it, Kreacher was sobbing into Heather’s robe and Arcturus was nearly incandescent with rage.

“A Horcrux.”  He raged, his grip on his walking stick so tight his knuckles were pure white.  “A-“ He broke off into colorful, multilingual cursing.

“More than one.”  Heather corrected quietly.  “But yes.”

“What do you mean more than one, girl?”  Arcturus bellowed, standing up from his chair and causing Bixbite to narrow her red eyes at him warningly.  “Even Herpo the Foul wasn’t mad enough to create more than one of the accursed things!”

“Well, Tom Riddle did.”  Heather replied, glaring up at the old man.  “His motivations are not my concern, banishing him permanently _is_.”

Something sly and calculating passed over Arcturus’ face, but before she could call him on it, he turned to Longaxe.  “Gringotts still maintains Disposal Rooms, do they not?”

“Gringotts offers, to premier clients, rooms capable of containing Fiendfyre or Seraphfyre.”  Longaxe recited drolly.  “For a significant fee, of course.”

“Make it so.”  Arcturus growled, turning back to Kreacher and kicking the small elf away from Heather.  “You, blasted elf, go retrieve the Locket and bring it here.”

Heather pursed her lips in annoyance, but she merely slid to her feet, dusted off her robes and glared at Arcturus.  “And of the one that is likely in Bellatrix LeStrange’s Vault?  A golden cup.   Or the diary- the original Horcrux- that was left with Lucius Malfoy?”

Arcturus stalked out of the room, Longaxe hot on his heels.

“Somehow.”  Heather pondered once the door had swung shut behind them, trying to puzzle out how she felt about this development.  “I imagined that would be harder.”

Bixbite made a noise of amusement.  “Gringotts, specifically, was contracted by the Egyptian Alliance of Royal Houses to rid their tombs of ancient, evil magicks.  Due, in large part, to our work in other parts of the Mediterranean, such as Greece, the birthplace of modern magic.”  Bixbite smirked rather smugly at Heather.  “We Stonebloods are rather accomplished in our own styles of magic.”

“And I shall never forget it.”  Heather admitted dryly.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Arcturus watched through the small, charmed window just outside the reinforced Disposal Room as the Locket Kreacher had retrieved finally buckled under the strain of the golden-white Seraphfyre’s magical creature’s relentless attacks.

Whereas Fiendfyre was poison green and conjured Dark Creatures- such a Basilisks or Nundus.  Seraphfyre was its foil, conjuring Light Creatures- such as Phoenixes or Unicorns- and burning bright white-gold.

Seraphfyre was in the same school of magic as the Patronus, and thus very, very few magicals could conjure the righteous fyre.  Well, even if they had access to the information, which most did not.  Arcturus would say the information about Fiendfyre was far more accessible than Seraphfyre, and the Dark version was at least ten times easier to cast- even for purely Light Wizards.

Just as the metal evaporated- literally- an unearthly scream echoed through the room and a black mist tried to escape.

“Longaxe.”  Arcturus growled warningly as a ward snapped into place over their general section of the Bank, halting the spirit.

“Apologies, Lord Black.”  The ancient Manager replied with a positively malicious smile.  “I’m afraid this is a Gringotts matter now.”

“Explain yourself, Goblin.”  Arcturus barked in annoyance as he spun around, ready to demand an explanation; only to blanch at the row of heavily- and ornately- armed, bloodthirsty Goblins now barring their way.

“Gringotts apologizes for the inconvenience, Lord Black.” A taller- though it might have been his helmet- Goblin said gravely as he stepped forward from the precise line of warriors.  “However, the signature of the entity from the Locket matches- or closely resembles that- of an attempted thief.  As such Gringotts is well within our rights to imprison the spirit and hold it for trial.”

Arcturus gaze the Goblin a long, hard stare.  “It has been rumored-“  He drawled dangerously, a cunning glint in his steel colored eyes.  “-that to this day Herpo the Foul rests in a vault, deep within the original Gringotts Bank.  That his cries of agony are the things of legend, as he begs for death and Gringotts denies him.”

The Goblin smirked, his long incisor fang poking out over his lower lip in a toothy, vicious grin.  “Ask me of no secrets, Lord Black.”

The elderly Black Lord smirked- low, dark, and lethal- in return.  “Longaxe.”  He said, his gaze staying fixed on the Goblin before him.  “Review Cygnus’ contract with the LeStrange family.  I have recently…. _acquired_ information that suggests she was gifted with a similar container as the Locket.”  Arcturus bared his crooked, yellow teeth.  “I authorize a search of any of her Vaults that fall under my purview at your discretion……so long as the _upstart bastard_ who _murdered my grandson_ _suffers_.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, as always, Lord Black.”  Longaxe responded mildly as Arcturus stalked forward, the warriors parting easily for him, and out of the Bank.

By the time Arcturus made it back to Blackmoor Hall he had calmed slightly, but now that he knew the girl’s ‘dreams’- those were pure visions or he was a muggle!- held merit, he had another grandson to see to.  “Spindle!  Fetch me Renatus!  Thimble!  Fetch Cassie from her townhouse!  Tell her I wish to speak with her!”  He bellowed as he sat down at his desk and began to pen a  letter.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Lucretia had been puzzled by her father’s owl- they hadn’t spoken in _years_ \- but she had dutifully headed over to Blackpool Hall. 

The House of Black liked to note that the muggles had gotten the name from _them_ , thank you very much, Alphard.

Lucretia smiled sadly as she thought of all of her family that had gone on before her.  ‘ _There are so few of us left, and Sirius- well, no need to dwell on that, I suppose.’_

Truthfully, ever since Regulus’ disappearance in ’79, everything had gone downhill for the House of Black.  True, they were still one of the oldest, most feared, and richest families on the Isles, but they had no heirs.  No Black born, bred, and raised heirs, at any rate.

But the elegant arches, wrought iron stairwells, swirled stone, stained glass, and varied shades of green tapestries that hid sheer white linings reminded her of better times.  Of when the halls had hosted children and laughter and they all would whisper about Great-Uncle Phineas’ horrible obsession with slippers while the man’s portrait tried to yell about his greatness.

Lucretia quickened her pace, suddenly overcome with sadness and wanting to return to her warm home and her dear husband.

She remembered, now, why she never visited her father.

**\---XXX---**

An hour later, Lucretia marched back out through the doors, Aunt Cassiopeia hot on her heels. 

“Ready for one last adventure, dear niece?”  Cassiopeia asked wryly, as the other woman held an arm out impatiently.

“If little Percy’s _rat_ turns out to be that Pettigrew fellow, there will be plenty enough excitement for us both, Aunt Cassie.”  Lucretia growled dangerously.

She might not see eye-to-eye with Molly most of the time, but those children were treasures!  And if that oath-breaking piece of scum had truly been hiding out as a rat under her niece’s roof, there would be blood!

“Good to see you haven’t forgotten your roots, dear.”  Aunt Cassie drawled approvingly from beside Lucretia.

Lucretia just twisted in place and pulled them through the ether to the edge of the Burrows’s wards.

“Shall we?’  Asked Aunt Cassie politely, annoyingly unruffled.

Lucretia just stalked off towards the precariously tilting house, Black family heirloom handcuffs- the technically illegal outside of Old Families collections kind- in hand. 

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Arthur Weasley had just returned from a Department Heads meeting in the conference room on the Wizengamot floor when he heard someone mention ‘the crazy ginger in the Lobby’ and he just knew that despite all the other redheads in the Isles, it _somehow_ involved his family.

He had ceased wondering ‘what now’ after that time the twins somehow managed to turn his only pair of work trousers into a pile of rubber ducks when they hadn’t wanted him to go to work.

_When they were four._

True to his prediction, upon his arrival in the lobby, he saw that it was his beloved Molly-wobbles.

He didn’t expect he slightly pudgy man- and was that a faded You-Know-Who Mark on his arm?  And what in the name of all that was muggle was Molly doing in the company of her very much disliked Aunt Lucretia and _Cassiopeia Black_?

“Molly-wobbles?”  He asked his wife in concern as he pushed his way through the crowd, towards the fountain and the wall of Floos.

“Oh, Arthur!  It’s terrible!”  Molly wailed, though she kept her wand pressed firmly to the back of the man’s neck.

Now that he was looking at them, Arthur was fairly certain those shackles had been outlawed at least a century ago.

“Black family heirloom.”  Cassiopeia Black informed him with a scarlet smile before she went back to yelling something.

“-Aunt Lucretia came by with Madam Black and at first I was going to tell them to leave- well, I did say that, but Auntie Lucretia talked me down- but then they said they had gotten credible evidence that Percy’s rat was actually an animagus- and well, I just couldn’t believe it but after they said it, all I could think of was how smart Scabbers has always been and so I called Percy and Scabbers really was a man and he almost hurt Percy, but Madam Cassie was faster and-“

Arthur was a tolerant, laid back man but some things tripped his anger trigger.  “He tried to hurt Percy?!”

Molly nodded, her wild hair falling out of its bun and her wand shook lightly.  “He tried to hold Percy hostage, Arthur!  But then Madam Cassie put these shackles on him and he’s tried to transform into a _rat_ , but they don’t let him and Arthur I’m so sorry, how could I let this happen?  And-“

“It’s not your fault, Molly-wobbles.”  Arthur soothed her, sliding out his wand and placing it next to hers while he embraced her in a half hug.  “We just thought he was a magic-touched rat.”

“Yes.”  A cultured and smug voice drawled condescendingly. “Why, if you just had the money for a _proper_ pet-“

Ah, Lucius Malfoy.  Just what his day was missing.

“And if you hadn’t reduced the Auror’s Department’s budget by _at_ _least_ five percent every year for the past ten years, perhaps the DMLE would have enough people to regularly check for such things as is their mandate.”  Cassiopeia Black snapped with a wicked looking smile.  “Why, I heard the most interesting rumors the other day, something about the Malfoy Curator being temporarily indisposed?  Apparently there were _theft charges_ filed-“

The Atrium, by that point, was packed.  And more people were coming in by the Floo every second, no doubt alerted to the drama unfolding by friends or coworkers. Amelia Bones was trying to fight her way through the crowds, but no one was listening to her or the Aurors; bizarrely fascinated by Cassiopeia Black tearing Lucius Malfoy a new one.

It was a sign of how strange this day was turning out to be when Arthur was internally cheering on _Cassiopeia Black_ , of all people.

Then, of course, thing got even odder.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Cassiopeia Black was having a delightful time!  Why, she hadn’t had this much fun since the time she and Dorea had last gone out together.

She firmly pushed away the sense of melancholy she felt when thought of dear Dorea and how low the House of Black had fallen.

Cassiopeia had tried, for _years_ to get Arcturus to warn the younger ones away from that upstart Dark Lord!  But Walburga had been sweet on him since he’d knocked her on her Pureblood arse.  Well, she’d spent the better part of her Seventh year tormenting the little First Year Riddle, but he’d gotten the last laugh with a well-placed curse that had nearly killed her during her final week at Hogwarts.  At any rate, Walburga had ‘loved’ him and she’d recognized him straight away when he’d come back calling himself by that ridiculous name.

But Arcturus had always wanted to avoid conflict with Pollux, who had doted on his daughter and thus he had ignored Cassiopeia’s demands.

And look at where it had gotten them!

Cassiopeia’s lip curled in disgust as the Aurors dragged the sniveling Pettigrew inside the courtroom and towards the Chair of the Accused, reached out and strapped him down.  She was rather smug to note that he still had on the Shackles of Impunity, so Arcturus must have not given them an inch while she had been taking her place in the Gallery.

Oh, drat, he was coming down to remove them.

 _Pity_.

Ah, well, there were Aurors and Hit Wizards stationed all around the Defense Stand, so apparently he hadn’t given in easily.

Cassiopeia only paid enough attention to the niceties- after Dumbledore finally deigned to arrive, that was one man with far too many fulltime jobs- to ensure they were all followed.

Cassiopeia was in the Heir’s Overlook, so she was spared the uncouth rumormongering of the General Gallery, but even her much smaller group broke out into furious whispers when Arcturus recused himself in favor of Dowager Longbottom as Prosecutor.

 _Bold move, dear Arcturus._   Cassiopeia thought approvingly as Augusta Longbottom ruthlessly questioned the sobbing, simpering fool.  He tried to lie, of course, but Augusta had lost her husband, son, and daughter-in-law to Voldemort and she was tolerating precisely zero of his nonsense.

Malfoy’s attorney- Callum Flint, if she was remembering correctly- did a fair job in trying to mitigate Augusta’s ruthless interrogation, but the pathetic man in the Accused Chair couldn’t even follow lies properly.

 _Pitiful_.

Then the pathetic bag of bones was dragged off into the holding area- which cut him off from the rest of the courtroom, but they could still see him- and Sirius was brought in.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Dear Sirius.  Time had not been kind.

It didn’t take long for the fools to collect enough evidence of Sirius’ innocence.  They tried to slip in other charges or accusations from around that time- Sirius had always been dreadfully reckless- but Augusta Longbottom was suffering no fools and in short order Sirius had been summarily freed, with the matter of his compensation being put on the calendar for the next session.

Then, of course, it was Pettigrew’s turn again.

After all, knowingly framing a blood or oath brother for a crime you committed was grounds for Noble charges, such as Destruction of House Assets.  Sirius might not have been Heir Black at the time, but even just his seed was valuable to House Black.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Lucius stormed through the halls of his Manor, headed towards his study and ignoring his wife and son along the way.

All these years of slowly carrying on his Master’s work!  So many plans and plots now had to be changed!  And all because Pettigrew had somehow managed to be found by the _House of Black_!

Lucius hurled a vase at his office’s wall.

Not only had he been found by the House of Black, Arcturus Black himself had gotten involved!  Had stormed in the Ministry and threatened to unleash the ancient Rites of Vengeance if Sirius Black was not given a trial and Peter Pettigrew wasn’t prosecuted for Devastation of House Assets. 

A slightly lesser charge than Line Theft, but damn close. 

And for good reason. 

After just a _year_ in High Security a male inmate’s reproductive chances were estimated to be cut in half and magicals already had a terrible time conceiving children.  It was the one thing magic didn’t seemed to be able to fix, really.  Magic knew Narcissa only graced his bed in order to try and conceive another child.

Lucius was well aware Arcturus’ Rites claim hadn’t been an empty threat. And so were the other Lords.  If there was a family who was crazy enough to unleash the Olde Magics, regardless of the fact that just about every other major Noble House was also in the line of fire for such a thing- as the Blacks were related to seemingly everyone at some point- it would be House Black!

And now-

Well. 

Sirius Black was free and recovering at Blackmoor Hall, far from Lucius’ grasp, while Peter Pettigrew was in Azkaban.

And Lucius had been a bit too late to get to the Prophet, because Cassiopeia Black already had a Special Edition printed and on the owls and Lucretia Prewett had already been on the air of the Wizarding Wireless before he’d managed to extricate himself from the Wizengamot Chamber!

Magic knew that old Arcturus had never liked him, and Lucius sincerely doubted the man had begun to do so now.

Lucius threw a few more things around, cursed an elf that was stupid enough to be where he could see them, and then sank down into his comfortable office chair with a snifter of brandy to begin to try and salvage his plots, reputation, and grip on the government via Fudge.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Mr. Leif knocked on the ‘door’ of the wards until Heather blearily made her way down to the side door- the one they all usually used that was inside the walled portion of the garden, but positioned so that whoever was inside could see whoever was outside, beyond the wrought iron gate, but not vice-versa- and crack it open.

“Oakenshield.”  He quoted the password anxiously, and Heather let him inside.

“Mr. Leif-“

“I need the two of you to get to the basement.”  He broke in quickly, glancing furtively, like he expected them to be attacked.  “And then I’ll go get your Manager.”  He paused for a moment.  “And call your bonded elf.”

Heather took in the agitated man.  In the two months they had been acquainted with Mr. Leif, she had never seen him upset.  He was always calm as a cucumber.

“Tansy.”  Heather called and a moment later, the sleepy looking Tansy popped in.  “I’m terribly sorry to wake you, dear, but-“

“Things are about to get interesting and I need to leave.”  Mr. Leif broke in tersely, looking out at the street and fingering his wand, which he had called to his hand.  “Having an Enforcer here will only make the Ministry angry and the situation is already tense.”

About that time Harry stumbled in, and asked what was going on.

“Your Manager is the one who contacted me, she said she’ll be dropping by for business in a few hours.”  Mr. Leif said quickly.  “Tansy, make sure no other elves can get in and get all of their personal belongings down to the basement as well.”  Mr. Leif turned and gave both dismayed twins a smile and a quick hair-ruffle each.  “Study hard, kiddoes!  Maybe I’ll see ya around sometime!”  he winked at them, shoved them back inside, and then slipped out the gate and down the street.

“Okay.”  Heather said around the lump in her throat. They hadn’t known him long, but Mr. Leif had been something of a friend and a security blanket.  Without him she suddenly felt….exposed.

Which was stupid, because he was likely just down the Alley, but it was how she felt.

“We need to get to the basement.”  Harry finished, sounding as unhappy as she felt.

“Right. Basement.”  Heather said as she shut the door and checked the wards.

**\---XXX---**

Harry and Heather- plus their animal companions- made their way to the bottom level- where the mail vaults were. 

Heather nearly screeched when Tansy popped in a few moments later, though she quickly apologized to the little elf, who merely nodded and popped away again.  It took several trips for Tansy to move all of their things, which had seemed to take forever to the still half-asleep and very confused Heather.

In reality, according to her simple _Tempus_ charm, it had only been fifteen minutes.

Then their faithful little elf had popped in with something to eat and drink.

“How could Tansy get in if she’s not on the list?”  Harry asked sleepily, curling into Heather’s side.  They had grabbed the quilt that Nana Anna and Kris had made them, as well as their pillows- they had brought them from Number Four, which were the ones from Number Three- to make a little nest in the middle of the floor.

“Tansy is a Potter Elf.”  Heather explained rather absently.  “She can go wherever the Potter Family magic allows.  Right now she’s our only elf, save for the hibernating ones, so she doesn’t have any restrictions.”

“But can other elves come here?”  Harry asked curiously.

“No, Master Harry.”  Tansy replied as she popped in with some fresh scones.  “Potter Elfs set the permissions for other elfs.”  Tansy shook her head so quickly her large ears flopped around a bit.  “And Tansy won’t let any elfs in without Mistress’ permission.  Not even into the kitchens.”  Tansy blinked her tennis-ball sized eyes a few times.  “House Elves be using the kitchens to do ours works, sos they are where not-family elvses go to announces themselves.  It bes considered very rudes not tos.”

“Oh, cool!”  Harry said with a smile for Tansy, leaning around Heather to grab a slice of bacon. 

Suddenly, Heather had a thought.  “Tansy, would you mind letting Liv and the Montforts know that the office is closed for the day?”  Heather bit her lip and reached out to cup Tansy’s cheek.  “And let me know if you get tired, ok?”

Tansy smiled indulgently and shook her head firmly.  “It bes Tansy’s honor to serve hers Family.”  Then she snapped her fingers and disappeared.

Heather and Harry huddled on the floor, amusing themselves with Mallie, Chromie, and Hedwig for nearly four hours before Tansy finally popped in, announcing Bixbite’s arrival.

There had been a number of other people who had come by and knocked on the ‘front door’, but the wards had held true and repelled the truly annoying ones, who had tried to damage them.

Heather gripped her wand tightly as she made her way up the stairs, darting from column to column to keep away from the windows, even though she _knew_ they wouldn’t betray her presence, and made it to the side door.

There was Bixbite, surrounded by a group of the most well-armed, fiercest looking Stonebloods Heather had seen since-

Well, the Elders’ Council incident, really.

Heather quickly opened the door and ushered Bixbite inside, ignoring the wizards who were being kept at bay by the guards who were just beyond the edges of the wards, shouting.  Heather opened her mouth to ask _what was going on_ , but then she saw a beetle scurry inside, just behind Bixbite’s booted feet, and across the uncluttered floor.  Give the lack of furnishings, the beetle was readily apparent.

Even before she registered doing it, Heather grabbed the cup of Stoneblood malt from Bixbite, tossed out its no doubt expensive contents, and slammed the cup over the beetle, nearly squashing it.

It took a few moments for her to remember why the thing had triggered such a strong reaction.

She blanched and pointed at the cup, mimed shaking her head, and somehow Bixbite- the wonderful, miraculously not offended Stoneblood that she was- understood that something was wrong.  She quickly snapped her fancily decorated claws- a recent thing but they were very pretty and Heather was slightly jealous- over the bowl.

“Heiress?”  Bixbite questioned, but then her brow furrowed and she looked at the overturned cup sharply.  “Animagus.”  Bixbite hissed angrily.  She turned her bright eyes towards Heather.  “I am here on Gringotts business.  I’ll hold the cup if you would allow a few guards inside.  We- through Gringotts- can levy harsher penalties and perhaps use this to our advantage, depending on who it is.”

Heather gave Bixbite a wan smile.  “You’re something else, you know that Bixbite?”  She said as she handed off cup duty to Bixbite and moved towards the door.

“I could say the same of you, Heiress.”  Bixbite drawled dryly.

“We have a potential, unwanted animagi intruder.  Manager Bixbite requests your assistance.”  Heather whispered quietly through the crack she had opened the door. 

The leader- he had a super fancy breastplate- stiffened and snapped out a few terse commands, and in short order they had taken the cup with the beetle into custody.

“Why didn’t she just transform back?”  Heather whispered to Bixbite as they watched the guards- and their prisoner- portkey out, behind the line of their brethren but beyond the edge of the wards. “Did you do something?”

Bixbite’s smile was sly.  “Perhaps, Heiress.”

“Keep your secrets then.”  Heather said with a laugh as she led Bixbite down to the basement.  “And kindly enlighten me as to why we moved unexpectedly.”

What it came down to was it was Heather’s fault.

Kinda.

Well, let her back up a bit.

First of all there was Quirrell- she had honestly forgotten about him entirely.  Quirinus Quirrell had been cleared of charges.  Technically.  However, he had been fined heavily and had agreed to work for Gringotts for the next ten years at reduced pay once his year at Hogwarts was done.  He was seen by a Gringotts-bound Healer at great expense, and was still slated to teach this upcoming year.  Bixbite confided that, by himself, his testimony wouldn’t have been worth much, so he was let off fairly lightly.   And Gringotts had already announced that the attempted thief had been a spirit, so no one even knew of Quirrell’s involvement, save for Voldemort and Gringotts.

Well, and the Potter twins.

_Of fucking course._

However, Arcturus Black had apparently not just destroyed the Locket.  Oh no, he’d sent Lucretia Prewett- his daughter- and Cassiopeia Black- his sister- to retrieve Peter Pettigrew _personally_.

Heather sort of goggled at Bixbite, while in the background Harry giggled.

She had not expected _that_.

Then, the two formidable ladies- alongside Molly Weasley; who had been fit to be tied about the intrusion into her home, and then about Peter Pettigrew himself- had marched straight to the Ministry for Magic and raised hell.

Sort of literally. 

Rumor had it Cassiopeia Black had hexed a Ministry worker who had suggested that Blacks didn’t deserve trials, once Sirius’ lack of trial was brought up.  Well, Lucretia had apparently duplicated the evidence in her hand and thrown copies in the faces of anyone who had dared to come near her.  And all the while Molly had held her wand at the fully human, Dark Mark bearing, Pettigrew, loudly demanding justice for the ten years the Ministry had not realized there was a dangerous criminal masquerading as a pet.

There had been those who tried to spin the story, of course, but with two born Blacks and an enraged mother, they ended up looking like asses.

Lucius Malfoy among them.

He’d said something to the effect of if the Weasley family had money for proper pets it wouldn’t have happened at all. 

Cassiopeia Black had fired back that with as much as he’d pushed for the Auror budget to be cut over the past ten years, one might think he’d had another change of heart.  Then she started naming names and amounts

It had apparently been _quite_ the afternoon.

Then the emergency session of the Wizengamot had been called and all three women had refused to leave the prisoner out of their sight until it convened.  Apparently, one does not argue archaic laws pertaining to an injured party’s right to ensure the accused stood trial with Lucretia Black-Prewett.

So, no escape for Pettigrew.

Meanwhile Arcturus Black, who had arrived during all the chaos, had demanded that representatives from two neutral families go with the DMLE detachment to retrieve his grandson from Azkaban, in order to prevent any _accidents_.

The head of the DMLE had been rather furious about all the aspirations being cast against her department, but Arcturus had simple turned to her- and the frightened Minister- and coldly noted that it had been _her predecessor_ that had sent his grandson to Azkaban without due process.  And did she know what the Establishment Decrees would allow him to do should Sirius _not_ get his day in court?

Everyone in hearing range had blanched. 

The Rites of Vengeance were not lightly invoked, but they were Olde Magic and nearly a law unto their own.  Family Magic level sort of secrecy as to actually having the working knowledge of how to perform the Rites, but fundamentally legal.  The caster risked life and limb to call on such Olde and unpredictable magic- as it called the very magic of the Isles themselves; an entire network of rich leylines with hundreds of thousands of years of magical blood enriching them- but Arcturus Black was not a man who joked about such things.  And had in fact, brought the required items to do so to the Ministry with him, he showed the suddenly hushed crowd.

Granting Sirius a prompt trial in front of the Wizengamot was the _least_ the Ministry could do.  Because if the Rites were called against the Ministry as a whole, and the Olde Magic found them magically complicit in grievous and malicious wrongdoing to an innocent-

Well, nothing _good_ would happen.

The last time the Rites had been invoked- and hadn’t immolated the caster; among imposing other harsh fines against their Family- had been nearly a hundred years ago.  Olde Magic was not always kind, and for the few who the Olde Magic had judged as worthy, the wrath of the Olde Magic against their foes had been the matter of _legend_.

Bixbite had fully approved, she told Heather rather candidly. 

Suddenly everyone who had been in hearing range had abruptly remembered just how closely they were related the House of Black. And how even if Arcturus had finally gone fully mad, they would still be caught in the backlash, should the Olde Magic reject his plea for vengeance. It wasn’t as if they could stop him, either, the right for the Old Families to invoke such magic was older than the Ministry itself. 

If any family was just crazy enough to keep that sort of information around in this day and age, it would be the House of Black.

Needless to say, Arcturus’ demands were met.  Not that he let the matter rest.  He had then strode into the Wizengamot Chamber and taken the throne-like seat reserved for his Family, glaring coldly at anyone who dared to speak to him.

Hearing this from the gleeful Bixbite, Heather was sort of unnerved.  ‘Innocence’ was rather subjective, and Sirius had tried to feed a Hogwarts student to a werewolf once, if she remembered correctly.  On the other hand, Sirius had been suffering in hell on earth long enough, and so she didn’t frown or fuss about it.

So, late last night, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew had been tried.  Sirius first, and _everyone_ had voted for his innocence, fully convinced or not; with Pettigrew second, which had been a much closer trial with not enough votes for execution, but enough for a lifetime sentence in Azkaban.

Of course, then things got _really_ messy. 

Because Heather’s life was the center of some sort of cosmic joke or something.

Arcturus Black had then stood up and demanded that, in light of his grandson’s innocence, the Potter Will be unsealed.  He verbally battered Dumbledore, the biggest opponent, with all manner of laws and traditions.   Citing the fact that Sirius’ ‘guilt’ had been the main piece of evidence in the Will being sealed in the first place.  Even though he had started out in an unfavorable position, Arcturus’ charisma and impassioned entreaties on his grandson’s godchildren’s behalf had slowly won him support over the long hours of spirited debate, and in the end the matter had been put on the calendar, to be decided at the next full session.

At that point Bixbite stopped and somewhat hesitantly admitted that, under the authority of the audit, she had put in a request for a Gringotts team to analyze the wards at Number Four.  She relaxed when Heather had merely thanked her, chagrined she hadn’t thought about such a thing herself, and went on to tell Heather something important: the Blood Wards were anchored to Heather, not Number Four or its grounds.  Petunia Dursley had enough of the wards wrapped around her to prevent magicals from connecting her and her family to the Potters, but those protections came from Heather herself.

“Unbelievable.”  Harry had muttered, his face meeting his palm rather solidly.  “Un-fricking-believable.  Only _you_ , Heather-feather.”

Bixbite had merely grinned wider at Heather’s offended spluttering and had proceeded to- far too cheerfully, in Heather’s humble opinion- inform them that that had been why she had sent a message to Mr. Leif once she had gotten wind of the hubbub from her Ministry contact. 

Because Heather had, somehow, unbound the blood wards from the Dursley family and number Four itself and had unconsciously anchored them to herself, which put the twins in a rather delicate situation.

“Heiress, what do you think of when you think of home?”  Bixbite asked bluntly.

“Harry.”  Heather answered honestly, more than a little confused.

The Manager nodded in satisfaction.  “It is as I thought, then.  May I make a suggestion?”

“Of course!”  Heather said firmly.  “I always welcome your counsel, Bixbite!”

“You should be cautious.  I sent Operative Leif to you because I feared that the _wizards_ would attempt to use you, Heiress, to bind the wards to an unsuitable home, which would then be given precedence over your parents’ wishes.”  Bixbite gave Heather a long, serious stare.  “Lady Lily died last, and the blood wards are her last living act to protect the two of you, which gives whatever property they are bound to a unique legal position.  Not only would such an occurrence undercut our profits, it would give your new caretakers rather unilateral authority over the two of you, according to the _wizards_.  I highly recommend-“

The building shook.  As if an explosion had occurred.

Bixbite snarled and the twins both screamed.

The building shook again, throwing Heather- who had been standing- bodily against a vault door, Harry just managing to ride the turbulence out, thanks to a nearby support pillar. 

A few moments later, a loud voice boomed throughout the building, causing Heather to scream out again as she clapped her hands over her ears, blood dripping from her nose, ears, a long scrape on her arm and side of her head, near the temple. 

“ ** _The Department of Magical Law Enforcement demands, pursuant to Wizengamot-“_**

“She’s bleeding!”  Harry shouted over the noise.  “Manager Bixbite, my sister is _hurt_!”

Bixbite roared dangerously and disappeared.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

**\---XXX---**

Amelia Bones had been having a nice normal day yesterday. 

 _Yesterday_.

Since that time, Arcturus Black had threatened to invoke Rites that hadn’t been used in at least a century, Sirius Black had been declared innocent, and a dead hero been found alive, and a criminal.

And it was only eight in the morning.

The Goblin that appeared in the middle of her office, looking on the verge of homicide was new.  The being was all but alight with magic and her axe returned at least a half dozen stunners- two from Amelia herself- before they slammed the butt of it onto the floor and a ward popped into place.

“If you do not explain the-“  Amelia couldn’t speak the Goblin language, but she knew a series of insults when she heard them.  “-who are attacking the Potter office, which is Family Territory, and have wounded _my Heiress_ , I will return to Gringotts as the Herald of the next Rebellion.”  The being smiled nastily.  “Gringotts takes the safety of their Managers quite seriously, and the Heiress and I were in the middle of _conducting_ _business_.”

“What?”  Amelia asked, the blood draining out of her face at ‘Herald of the next Rebellion’.

“My Heiress, the Lady Heather Potter, has been wounded by _wizards_.”  The being ground out fiercely.  “They identified themselves as members of the DMLE, on the orders of the Wizengamot. I, as well, sustained injury, which I will be reporting to my superior shortly.  For your sake, I hope you have a good explanation for this incident.”

The being then disappeared, the ward falling in their absence, and a shocked hush falling over what felt like the entire department.

Oh- _bloody fucking hell_.

Amelia started shouting orders.

**\---XXX---**

By the time Amelia had arrived on scene there were Wardbreakers from the Department of Mysteries attempting to assess the wards.

And there was a very familiar figure at the center of the hubbub, looking inordinately pleased with herself.

“Delores!  What is the meaning of this?!”  Amelia bellowed, ordering the Aurors who had come with her to detain the DOM operatives and giving the present Aurors the stink eye.

Delores shrieked out something along the lines of ‘the Minister’, ‘concerned citizens’, and other words that essentially told Amelia all she needed to know about the situation.

“I see.”  Amelia said with a prize-winning smile; stepping back towards the gathered crowd and, more importantly, the reporters.  _‘And no Skeeter in sight!’_   “And when the public discovers that your _illegal warrant_ that you attempted to administer on _Family Lands_ caused _Heiress Heather Potter_ to _bleed_?”

Amelia didn’t even bother with the Goblin news.  She could see a gaggle of guards over by a side door and her headache spiked.  _‘Fucking hell, the Goblins had even followed protocol to a ‘t’!  Gringotts was going to tear strips out of the Ministry’s hide over this incident!’_

Delores, being Delores, saw no problem with such a thing, citing that some long-lost cousin of the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ was hardly important.

“You mean his quite beloved _twin sister_ , Delores?”

Amelia had never been so happy to see Albus Dumbledore in her entire life. Usually he was sort of a pain in the arse, but at the moment he was just the sort of ally Amelia needed; outlandishly colored robes, excessively long beard, and all.

“What’s this I hear about my client being injured from an illegal order on _independent lands_?”

Oh, _bugger_ Amelia’s _life_.

Of _course_ the Potter twins would somehow have managed to retain the services of internationally recognized solicitors with an axe to grind with the Ministry.  And with the Potter family’s support, the Montforts would _finally_ have the social clout to make that jump to the top.  Where the likes of Lucius Malfoy had been desperate to keep them away from for a long, long time.

“Yes, well, what did you expect from the incompetent Ministry who sent a _Black_ to Azkaban _without a trial_.”

And _that_ was Cassiopeia Black.

 _Perfect_.  Just bloody _perfect_. 

Amelia needed a damn drink.

Actually, just……bugger this whole day!

**\---XXX---**

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Harry reluctantly left Heather in Tansy’s care once the anxious elf had popped in and announced that the Montforts had arrived.  “I’ll make sure whoever did this will answer for their…their _stupidity_.”  He fairly growled as he wiped angrily at the tears on his face.

Heather-feather was _hurt_.  These people had hurt his _sister_.  Harry felt anger beginning to build inside him and he channeled it into his determination, just like Heather had always taught him.

It was one thing to hear about weird Lich-soul-jar things; or to hear that Heather had taken a huge risk telling Bixbite about her ‘dreams’, but-

(His chest felt like it was going to burst.  He felt like he couldn’t breathe.)

-but those had all worked out.  Heather had never gotten hurt- shaken and stressed and grouchy, maybe- but not _hurt_.  And once she had finally come clean about Tom Riddle and had asked for help- so that the bastard would _stay_ _dead_ \- this shit happened.

Harry strode out the front door to the office, stopping on the steps, still well inside the still temporarily locked-down wards.  Normally Harry would be scared or shy about the huge crowd gathered around, but all he cared about was getting Heather somewhere _safe_.  “Mr. Reginald, Mr. Nigel, you can come in now.”  He managed to say.

“Harry, my how you’ve-“  Started the man whom Harry recognized as the Headmaster, Dumbledore.

“ _My sister is hurt_.”  Harry said, cutting off the man’s warm greeting rather coldly and looking, instead, to the two men Heather had said were their legal experts.  “Heather is bleeding from her nose and her right ear, her arm, and her h-head.  She’s _never_ had a nosebleed before, _not one_ , no matter how many times she got hit in the face with a tennis ball.”  His hands clenched into fists.  “I want whoever hurt her to _pay_.”

“Surely there’s no need for that-“

“Look- Headmaster Dumbledore, right?”  Harry cut the man off again, ignoring the looks he was getting as the Montforts came to stand beside him.  “I get that you’re going to be our Headmaster.  And that you left us with Aunt Petunia because of some brilliant magic our mum did.  I get that.  I also get that you’re a…. benevolent man who allows for lots of second chances- cool.  Whatever.  If it works for you, good for you, sir.”  Harry raised his voice a bit.  “But whoever it was that _attacked_ _us_ didn’t care about anything like that.  They wanted to control us, because we get credit for our mum’s work and they thought a couple of kids would be _stupid_ enough for them to _use_.”  Harry’s eyes filled with tears again, but he bit the inside of his cheek and tried to keep them in.  “And, personally, I don’t really give a bloody hell what _pathetic_ reasons they have.  _Heather is hurt_.  _They hurt my sister for their own ends_.  Quite frankly, I want them to face the full extent of the law- and if this _shite_ it somehow legal I’ll fight until such a _stupid_ law is changed.”

Mr. Montfort put a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and finished his thought.  “I just found out _my innocent godfather_ was finally given a bloody _trial_ and almost immediately afterwards my _sister is wounded_.  What the _hell_ sort of society are you running here?”  He opened his eyes and glared.

There were some uncomfortable coughs, but no one interrupted.

Harry went to say something, changed his mind, shook his head, and turned towards Mr. Montfort.  “Do we _have_ to attend school here in the Isles?”  He asked tiredly.

Behind him, protests erupted, but it was the lady dressed all in an old-fashioned black dress that shut them all up. 

“Can you truly blame the boy, Headmaster?”  She sniffed disapprovingly.  “He knows nothing of us and our ways, and he’s supposed to just accept all of these occurrences.”  She pressed her lips together in displeasure, and it sort of reminded Harry of Heather, which made him smile.

“I am Cassiopeia Black, young man.”  The woman introduced herself imposingly.  “I am here to extend an invitation for you to visit Blackpool Hall-“  She casually waved her wand and the Headmaster and monocle-wearing lady could no longer be heard; both of whom looked stunned at the bold action.  “-where your Godfather has been taken to recover.”

“The Potter twins are-“

“-in the custody of their muggle relatives, yes, I am aware of that Professor.”  Cassiopeia sniffed disdainfully.  “However, Sirius is their closest magical relative.   When dear Dorea and her Charlus took him in, they made him a Potter in all but name.   They called him their second son.   Can you refute _that_ , Headmaster? It was _your_ _own_ insistence, under oath, that Sirius was guilty that swayed the vote to illegally seal the Potter Will under the Wartime Exemptions.  Hogwarts begins in a fortnight; do you truly wish to insist upon this nonsense, now that the Will is on the Calendar to be, at long last, unsealed?”

An argument began in earnest, but Harry just wanted to get Heather somewhere safe where she could be properly treated.  “Is the Hall safe?  And will there be a doc-er,Healer to look at my sister?”  He asked over the noisy chatter.

The lady looked offended.  “The Hall is one of the most well defended places on the Isles.  And, yes, of course.  We’re already retained a quality Healer for Sirius.  They will be happy to treat your sister as well.”

“Now, listen here-“ 

“I accept.”  Harry interjected firmly, not caring a whit about the protests.  Heather was still in the basement, bleeding.  “Miss- Cassiopeia?  Like the star?  Er, constellation, I think.”

“Precisely.”  The lady told him with a small, approving smile.  “Cassiopeia Black.”

“’Kay.” Harry said after a moment of concentration.  Heather had said that to grant access to a visitor, he just had to mentally want them to be able to enter and the Family Magic would do the rest.  Heather could do it much easier with her ring, but she had given Harry full permission as well.

The lady stepped forward without hesitation and passed right through the wards, which the monocle lady and the Headmaster tried to do, but failed.  “I believe-“  She said as she put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and guided him back inside.  “-that you two have quite enough business with the Potter retainers to see to.” 

Then she soundly shut the door behind them.

“That was wicked.”  Harry told her with a reluctant smile, stopping at a stone bench just inside the office.  “Just take a seat over there.  I’ll go get Heather-feather.  Be right back, Miss Cassie!”

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.


	8. Alterations Arc Part V

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Blackmoor Hall was amazing to Heather.  The decorations were mostly black, green, and silver, which was sort of expected. 

But Heather’s room was done all in shades of blue and blue green with a nearly sinfully soft grey rug on the dark, polished wood floor.  She had her own loo, a huge closet, and even a study!  She had a balcony that was perfect for reading, and Chromie was having a delightful time scampering around through little ‘cat-ducts’ and pretending to be a super stealth ninja cat.

Or so Heather had concluded from the little blonde cat’s cheerful scampering about and random bursts of spastic zig-zag sprinting.

Harry was right across the hall, though his room was done in slightly brighter colors of green.  He and Mallie were having a _ton_ of fun exploring the extensive lands while peppering the indulgent and overly-helpful elves with all manner of questions about the plants and animals.  The widespread grounds held a river and several lakes in addition to their break taking garden with many little arbors that were perfect for reading or even working on stupid response letters.

Sirius was down at the end of the hall- which was about the length of Privet Drive, which was insane- with Healer Andy- “call me Aunt Andy, dears!”-  directly across from him.

Tansy, after conferring with the Black elves, had told Heather she would be helping keep the office and ‘Miss Livia’s’ house.  Tansy had whispered to Heather that it would just be rude to intrude when the Black elves were having so much fun.

Heather had praised the little elf for her thoughtfulness and given her a hug.  She’d found a shiny rock- apparently House elves liked thoughtful gifts- and set it aside for the next time she saw Tansy.

The Hall itself seemed too huge to properly explore, though from what she had seen of the outside it looked much like a medieval castle- with turrets and towers and even a moat!

A friggin moat!

But….

Well, actions and reactions and all that.

Which was why Heather was curled un on her little loveseat bench, out on her balcony with Chromie purring away on her lap while she watched Harry and Mallie play together under Aunt Andy and Aunt Cassie’s watchful eyes.

Heather sniffled a little as she tried to pull herself back together before Harry decided enough was enough and came to find her.

How could she have been so _stupid_?

Heather had always assumed that either the twins had the same godparent or that Remus was hers.

But, oh, how _wrong_ she’d been.

After sleeping most of the day away yesterday- she’d been wounded, which was strange and scary to think about- the Early Morning, Special Edition of the Prophet had arrived before anyone else had come down to breakfast.

On a side note, she was really happy that the walk to the dining room was a simple ‘turn left, walk to main stairwell, turn right, can’t miss it’ deal.  Heather was pretty directionless, so Hogwarts was going to be fun.

At any rate, the paper had been neatly folded on the table and Heather had curiously picked it up.

She really wished she hadn’t.

** ‘Heiress Potter?  An In-Depth Look At Potter Family Traitor Peter Pettigrew’s Unknown Goddaughter!’ **

Heather had read the article- and the extra information further in- what felt like a hundred times.  She could quote the article verbatim, even.  It called her a braggart and a thief and painted her as an usurper trying to steal the ‘Boy-who-Lived’s rightful inheritance’.  It called into question her birth- which was crazy because she and Harry were twins, right?- and-

Heather hadn’t even realized that someone else was in the room until the paper caught on fire.

Startled, she had instinctively dropped it and it was only then that she noticed Miss Cassiopeia and Lord Arcturus had arrived.  It took her a few moments afterwards to also realize she was crying.

Lord Arcturus sniffed disdainfully.  “Hmph.  As if you were ever going to be Lady Potter.”

Heather went to yell at him, to scream that she _had a right to be here_ , even if she hadn’t been in the original story.  That everything she had ever done had been for Harry- because he was _her baby_ and _her brother_ \- and _she loved him with every fiber of her being_.

And so she’d opened her mouth and prepared to unleash verbal hell upon the arrogant old fart who thought to cast aspirations on-

“You were never going to be Lady Potter.”  Lord Arcturus repeated slowly, leaning heavily on his cane as he stared into her eyes with an intensity that belied his hunched frame.  “Because you were always going to yield that position to your brother.”

Heather’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and she heard Cassiopeia huff.

Heather wanted-

She wanted-

Under the firm gaze of Lord Arcturus Black, Heather just couldn’t bring herself to lie.

Not even to herself.

“I was.”  She managed to confess hoarsely.  “I might be sensitive to magic, but Harry-“  her breath hitched and her hands shook lightly.  “-Harry embodies the Potter Family Magic.”  She hiccupped lightly and looked down at her clenched fists.  “I’m just carrying the responsibilities until he can grow into them a little, is all.”

“You would willingly just give the title and privileges of being a Lord away?”  Arcturus demanded suddenly, his gaze unforgiving and his tone unyielding. 

“For my brother?  Yes.”  Heather answered, suddenly stubborn and obstinate on the issue.  “Harry embodies the Potter Family Magic with _every breath he takes_ and he’ll be _unstoppable_ as the Master of the Potter Family Magics.”  Heather mustered up her best glare and planted her fists on her hips defiantly.  “So say whatever you want about me for it.  But the promise of power should never come before family.”

There were another tense few minutes of a stare-off, but all Heather could see was Arcturus Black and the vision of the kind, brave, vibrant young man her brother would someday become just beyond the old man’s shoulder.

Then, abruptly, the old man smiled.

It was a small thing, barely even curving his lips, but it lit up his slate-colored eyes and made him seem more like Gramps than Ebenezer Scrooge’s exponentially grumpier cousin.

“Good.”  He said as he rounded the table and took his place at its head.  “Come.  Breakfast is about to be served.”  He pointed to the chair on his right with his cane.  “Sit.”

A wash of magic splashed over her and Heather could feel the tears and their traces suddenly being removed from her face.  It was a rather strange sensation, especially since she could actually see the bright red of the tip of her nose- she was sort of a Rudolph crier- fade back to its normal flesh color.

Heather had obeyed.

She’d made it through breakfast in a foggy haze and then she’d begged off exploring the Hall with Harry to go hole up in her room.

Harry had been reluctant to leave her alone, but Mallie had gently nudged him in the back of the knee and his desire to explore won out over arguing with Heather.

But now, seated in the bright sunshine of her balcony, she was no closer to working through her feelings on being the goddaughter of Peter Pettigrew than she had been this morning. She was calmer and a bit more rational now, but was still equally- or more upset- than earlier.

_‘Ok, Heather.  What do you know?’_   She asked herself as Harry went to dodge around a bush and ended up on his back with a cheerfully unrepentant Mallie’s forelegs braced against his chest, tail wagging happily.

Peter Pettigrew, while fandom’s favorite evil betrayer guy, had at one time been James Potter’s best friend.  And, if her hazy recollections were correct, back during the war Remus had been off doing some shady, secretive shit for Dumbledore.

In a time of uncertainty, having a friend who was constantly gone on ‘Dumbledore’s orders’ would have been a serious red flag.  Especially since Dumbledore the General seemed perfectly capable of false platitudes, misdirection, and outright denial if he thought it would preserve the integrity of an ongoing operation.

His book alter-ego leaving Harry to deal with the trauma of seeing a classmate murdered in front of him and then cutting off all meaningful communication with book-Harry’s friends while also placing him under guard without informing him.

So, _yeah_.  She could clearly picture Dumbledore the General being grimly pleased with Remus’ distance to his friends in order to see that an Order of the Phoenix’s operation succeeded.  And Remus most likely held enough hero worship and gratitude for his former Headmaster allowing him to attend Hogwarts- let alone shushing up that Fifth Year incident- to play the willing victim.

She wasn’t even feeling an overwhelming bitterness about such a thing, surprisingly. 

While she hadn’t had time to read all that much about it, from what she managed to glean from the few books she’d skimmed about the Blood War- and Mr. Leif’s outsider’s view on the whole thing- Voldy had been dangerously close to wholesale winning.  Say what one would about his post-resurrection self, the original incarnation of  Lord Voldemort had been ruthless, cunning, and patient. 

It had very nearly been a silent coup, really. 

It hadn’t been until after the disappearance of a prominent Pureblood in frickin’ _1978_ that the moderate Purebloods had become agitated enough to break ranks with Voldemort’s supporters and call for investigations into the ‘mysterious disappearance’.  The breadcrumb trails from those investigations- and _only_ after they had come back with solid evidence, which had taken _months_ \- led to the Ministry’s eventual declaration of war, which Voldemort then used to come out into the open.

Mr. Leif had explained that the ICW did not have the jurisdiction to interfere with a magical nation’s internal unrest.  The British Ministry had been sanctioned and fined heavily for all of the Statute breaches, but that was about all the ICW could do without disrupting the delicate balance of power.

_“Magicals, as a rule, are paranoid. So the idea that some sort of big brother agency might potentially swoop in and try to ‘take away their autonomy’ is a very sensitive, hair-trigger subject.”  Mr. Leif explained to the twins after Harry had wondered aloud why the ICW had allowed Voldemort to exist.  “The ICW was aware of Voldemort_ years _before the Ministry of the Isles officially  declared war on him, but our reports were scoffed at and as his power base grew we fell back to wait it out.”  Mr. Leif grinned tiredly down at the twins. “War is hell, kiddos, and sometimes the ICW has to make the choice between keeping magical society as a whole a secret and keeping our noses out of bloody turf wars or going rogue and ending up doing a great deal more harm than good.  Grindelwald, kiddies, he did a hell of lot of damage to the magical governments’ relations with one another.”_

So.  Dumbledore the General. 

Dumbledore the General of the losing side. 

Dumbledore the General of the losing side, who had lost his way in his own youth.

Dumbledore the General of the losing side who had lost his way in his own youth and had not only taught Tommy Riddle, but had introduced the terror to the magic and the wizarding world.

Heather was sensing some guilt-driven unscrupulous choices and some constant severe internal turmoil here.

Cast in that light, Heather could very grudgingly see how effective of a spy Pettigrew might have become.  Possibly convinced that he had chosen he correct side and that his friends would be terribly thankful to him once Voldemort took over and Pettigrew’s noble service spared them from death.  People could convince themselves of some severe delusional _crap_ when trying to justify terrible life decisions.

But Peter was around and not off doing secretive ‘work’ for the Order like Remus and would therefore be a somewhat logical choice for godparent. 

Somewhat.  Didn’t Lily have any close girlfriends?  Why a godfather?  Why not a godmother?  Heather would have taken no godparent at all before the traitor, honestly. 

But it wasn’t really fair to complain about things her parents hadn’t known about.

Heather sighed and shifted around a little, though Chromie didn’t do more than crack open an eye to glare lazily at her until Heather ceased jostling the feline around.

That did bring up an interesting line of thought, though.

If Pettigrew was a Death Eater in the same way Remus was an Order operative, it was entirely possible that Snape had not known about Pettigrew at all.  Yet that really didn’t make sense to Heather, as the Dark Mark seemed like something that would resonate with others like it, a sort of silent warning system to know if a Death Eater was among ‘friends’.

So Heather’s new, distracting question wasn’t how her parents hadn’t known about Pettigrew, but how Dumbledore _hadn’t_.

Surely the Order had something similar, if much less dark and creepy? Dumbledore the General didn’t strike her as a careless man, so there must have been something, right?  When did Snape overhear the prophecy?  How much did Dumbledore the General learn from Snape’s mind?  Had he known about Pettigrew’s duplicity?  Sirius’ innocence?  Had the Potter family- unknowingly- been bait for an ambush that had gone horribly, terribly wrong?  Or had there been an actual plan, a decoy in the works and then Pettigrew’s betrayal truly came out of nowhere?  The four- or at least three; had Remus’ condition precluded him from some sort of friendship ritual?- had to have had an oath or something that bound them, otherwise how would Sirius have found Pettigrew at all?  The world was a big place and Sirius had to have had _something_ the Aurors didn’t.

Heather’s head throbbed and she sighed gustily, shifting until she was lying down- Chromie hopped  and stalked off in a huff- and pulled a nearby quilt over her.  Magic meant her balcony was just cool enough to be comfortable for a nap, and that was precisely what she was going to do.  She was actually pretty bad at ‘naps’ but she was exhausted and still somewhat achy from the incident at the office, so she was going to rest.

Good afternoon, paranoid and critical internal monologue!

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

**\---XXX---**

Harry glanced over at Heather- whose nose was buried in a book from the black library about the Ministry for Magic versus some guy named Tolklien* or something- and he sighed softly.

He’d heard her yesterday morning, and it had only been Aunt Cassie’s hand on his shoulder- and then her silencing him and dragging him around  the corner into a different room- that had kept him from bursting in there and giving Lord Black a piece of his mind.

It had taken a few minutes for him to calm down enough to listen, but eventually he had- grudgingly- accepted Aunt Cassie’s reasoning.

“You sister loves you more than have the power of countless generations of Potters at her fingertips, boy.”  The stately lady had informed him firmly, her eyes that same shade of solemn as Gramps’ has been when he’d told the twins to look out for each other.  “Do you know how rare that quality is?”

Harry did, actually.

He’d seen other siblings- even other twins, like the Bretchelders*- and so, while he might not have the ‘benefit of age’ he certainly knew enough to know that Heather was special.

Heather had always been special.

And Heather thought that he-

Aunt Cassie smiled approvingly at him.  “Good.  You are beginning to understand.”  She smirked at him and tapped his nose lightly with the narrow tip of her wand.  “You have excellent mental defenses, dear- I would love to hear how you developed them, new techniques always interest me- but the truth was written all over your face.”

Harry couldn’t even bring himself to be surprised that the lady had checked.  Something about her made it seem not so surprising, but she had gotten Heather a doctor, so he’d forgive her.

This time, at least.

Her smirk widened.  “Arcturus- while generally thoughtless in that old man way of his- cares deeply for his family.  You two are family.  Through your grandmother- who was my little sister- Dorea.”

Harry perked up.  “Can you tell me about her?”  He asked hopefully, tipping up onto his toes just as Mallie came ambling inside the room to sit beside him.  Harry put a hand in her fur and scratched behind her ears.

“Of course.  Dorea was my dearest friend as well as my beloved sister.  You may call me Aunt Cassie, as she would have no doubt had you doing had she lived.”  Aunt Cassie smiled a little wistfully and shook her head, stepping forward and guiding him out of the room, nodding to an elf who appeared to take Mallie to the kitchens.

Mallie’s tail wagged happily.  The elves spoiled her rotten, according to Tansy.

“But Arcturus isn’t trying to hurt your sister.  He’s trying to get her to admit that she was never planning on being Lady Potter so he can poach her to be Heir Black.”

Harry burst out laughing and tried to muffle his giggles with his hands.  “You know Heather-feather _hates_ crowds and large groups of people, right?”

Aunt Cassie grinned conspiratorially.  “Well then, she will suffer no fools, hm?  Like a true Lady Black.”

Harry tried to control his sniggering before they entered the Dining Room.

_Really_.

**\---XXX---**

Aunt Cassie had told him about the article- and how she’d already begun her campaign to make whoever started it suffer humiliations and shame- but the issue weighed heavily on Harry’s mind.

Heather had kept mostly to her room after some exploring that morning- mostly Harry showing her places he’d discovered while she had been sleeping- and he was, frankly, not very good at staying calm while his sister was distressed.

Which had happened a lot since they had gotten their Letter and he was about a hundred and fifteen percent done with this crap.

They were going off to a magic castle to learn about magic!  How was that anything but exciting?!

But he knew sometimes Heather-feather needed space.  So he’d spent most of the day outside, playing with Mallie in the gardens while Aunt Andy and Aunt Cassie sipped tea and gossiped a fair distance away, but still near enough to save him from the occasionally hungry shrubs.

Magic.  Was. Brilliant!

But Heather-feather had taken her supper in her room, according to Mimsy his assigned elf, and then taken a bath.  So, with all the indolence of a well-tolerated younger sibling he waltzed inside her room unannounced and crawled up beside her on the massive four-poster bed, wriggling under the covers and propping himself up on an elbow.

Chromie meowed unhappily but Mallie had come in with him and hopped up on the bed too, so the two animals were soon curled up together, on Heather’s other side.  Mallie really like to lay back-to-back with people and Chromie liked to hide halfway under Mallie’s belly.

Heather’s eyes fluttered open.  So he _had_ been right!  She was awake, just hiding.

He cleared his throat and decided to dive right in.  “You know, I think you’d make a great Lady Potter, but if you were planning on dumping it on me anyways, you might as well become Lady Black.”  He grinned brightly at his dumbstruck, speechless sister.  ‘ _Where’ a camera when I need one?’_   “Oh! Aunt Cassie said to tell you that Pettigrew’s mother- her name is Enid, which is sorta weird, don’t you think?- would love to meet you.  She apparently had tried to tell the Ministry about the rat’s strange behavior when Sirius got chucked into Azkaban, but no one would listen to her.”

Heather’s gobsmacked expression and subsequent spluttering was _hilarious_.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Heather knocked on Arcturus’ study door firmly, entering when acknowledged, and then gingerly taking a seat on one of the high-backed chairs.

She took a deep, steadying breath.

Harry had surprised her, the day before yesterday.

Well, not really, she quietly admitted to herself.  He had always been an intuitive and curious and such a thoughtful boy.

She was proud and disappointed at the same time.

Harry had always been Heather’s baby.  Her focal point, her reason to wake up and face the day.

_Her baby._

But now-

_Her brother._

Well.  Now he was a young man.  A brilliant young man who was just a few short years- possibly even a year- from being a Lord in his own right by magic.  When he became a Lord by magic it would take precedence over Ministry laws- Old Family biases again- and he would be a free man.

Essentially.

On the other hand, she now sort of understood how the Harry from the books had gotten so much crap for the Tournament debacle.  Any wizarding raised student would have _known_ that he could have undergone the Lordship Ritual at twelve and could have reasonably assumed that Harry was just being an attention seeking, responsibility dodging prat. 

Objectively speaking, Harry’s book alternate-universe persona had had a lot of disadvantages. 

Heather wasn’t schooled enough in magic and law to know who to blame- or if it had just been a truly FUBAR situation all around- for book Harry’s image mismanagement and lack of an adult champion.  She’d _like_ to blame Dumbledore, but-

Well, for the first four years the old man had had three fulltime jobs.  And arguments could be made about Dumbledore not sharing power or delegating properly and such, but he was a hero, especially in Eurasia.  Heather wasn’t sure if he held on to his positions for fear of a crappy replacement or if he felt a genuine obligation- out of guilt or shame- to work himself to death as a public servant.

Heather had _opinions_ on the matter, given the benefit of an outsider’s point of view, but she was hesitant to wholesale condemn the old man.  Things always looked different from the top, looking down.  And perhaps it was Heather’s lack of knowledge of this new world and her tiny bit of foreknowledge that allowed her to see the faults in the old man’s handling of Harry’s life so clearly.

Also some- er, slight sisterly righteous anger and her own, generally suppressed, feelings of anger and resentment for having to play diplomat for ten years in the Dursley household.

At any rate, Heather’s whole ‘new’ life had been about Harry.  Raising Harry, nurturing Harry, protecting Harry; making the Potter Family finances strong enough to support Harry.

Preparing to step down and allowing Harry the birthright she’d inadvertently stolen by existing.

But-

Harry was emphatically _not a fan_ of Heather’s planned ‘fade out’.  As a matter of fact, he had _opinions_ on the matter. 

Heather hadn’t really thought about things in those terms, but after two entire nights spent tossing and turning and cuddling Chromie, she was finally ready to admit some hard, painful truths.

First of all-

**_They were never coming back._ **

It made Heather’s heart twist painfully in her chest.  Heather felt a little like Rey when Maz gently informed the young scavenger that Rey had already known her family was never coming back to Jakku.

Much like Rey, Heather had always known that there was no going back.  And, again much like Rey, she had stubbornly survived despite the odds being against her- in this case, Heather’s own sense of grief and loss.  But, like Rey, Heather had come to a point where she had to admit- to her own stubborn self- that it was a change of seasons.

That while she cherished them and would never forget them, _they were never coming back_.

She’d cried.  Not the wails of a fresh sense of grief or the loud, wracking sobs of anguished despair; but the softer, noiseless, tears of accepting a loss as an immutable fact.

It had been uncomfortable and somewhat painful, but she had come to realization years ago.  It just wasn’t until now that she could accept it.

_‘Denial.  Anger.  Bargaining.  Depression.  Acceptance.’_

Heather had laughed at the irony.  All these years she had been stuck somewhere between bargaining and depression, thinking she’d dealt with her trauma and buried it.

It had taken until early sunrise of today’s morning- a glorious affair to watch from her balcony with the winged horses and critters and magical plants welcoming the first rays of light jubilantly- for her to place that last piece into the puzzle of her past.

Then it was time to deal with the present.

Heather had, from the moment she’d realized she was the eldest, been quietly preparing to fade into the background.  She’d step up while Harry was still young and needed help or if he called on her in the future, but she’d always felt a little disconnected from the ‘Potter’ part of her identity.

That day at Gringotts, when she’s put the Heir ring on her finger, the deep seeded fear of being a fraud evaporated a little. Because she could feel the family magic connecting with _her_ , accepting her.  It had been breathtaking and exhilarating, but also a teensy bit sad.

Since she could _feel_ the Family Magic quite acutely she could also feel _precisely_ how happily it surged inside and around her brother.

So, even though the Family Magic had accepted her as Heir, both she and the magic knew who belonged as the Potter Family Magic’s Lord and Master.

That….sort of left her at loose ends, really.

Bixbite was nearly scarily competent and given the business models she and Heather had hammered out, the plucky Stoneblood lady would likely see them through with minimal effort required from Harry.  Sure, there would be the occasional hiring issue or other ‘wizard’ input, but with Bixbite’s oversight, the Montforts as a check and balance, and good hiring practices Harry could choose his level of involvement, really.  Sure, things always went better when those at the top were personally invested in their businesses, but the Vaults would make profits, people would find honest work, and the Potter family legacy would live on.

All without any need of Heather.

At least, that was what Heather had _thought_.

_“What the hell, Heather-feather?!”  Harry exclaimed rather heatedly, causing Mallie- who was not a fan of loudness to raise her head in warning of an impending cuddle attack; her preferred way of dealing with things that displeased her- gesticulating wildly with his hands._

_Chromie eyed him warily from her spot, melted down Heather’s leg._

_“You’re my sister.  My twin.”  He continued, his green eyes full of hurt and irritation.  “And you’re acting like- like you were just going to fade out.  Like some sort of-of………..like a background character or something!”  Harry abruptly stood- startling Mallie to her feet and Chromie to slink off of Heather’s leg and skulk over to hide under Mallie’s bulk- and crossed the short distance between them.  “Heather-feather.”  He said fiercely, his forehead resting against hers and the bright moonlight illuminating his skin.  “You’re my sister.  You’re important.”  His eyes slipped closed and he sighed, bringing his hands to rest on her shoulders._

_Mallie wandered over, through Harry’s parted legs- nearly knocking him over- and shoved her nose onto Heather’s thigh, big golden eyes blinking up at Heather mournfully.  Chromie, meanwhile, scampered back up Heather’s chair and draped herself over the back of it._

_His eyes still closed, Harry continued softly.  “I don’t care about weird Lich wannabes or Lordships or any of that…..mess.  I care about you.  And Gramps and Coach and Kris and Maddie and Nana and maybe even Sirius and all these other new people we’ve met.”  Harry’s eyes blinked open and he frowned at her.  “I know you get lost sometimes.  Inside your head.  But it doesn’t matter who you were- you’re my Heather-feather now.  And-“  Harry smiled at her.  “-and it’s a real shame, you know?  To know that my favorite person in the whole world-well-“  Harry stepped back, windmilling a bit unsteadily when Mallie nearly tripped him._

_Chromie flicked her tail into Heather’s ear before Heather could do more than giggle._

_Harry righted himself and reached a hand down to scratch behind Mallie’s blonde ears.  “It’s just- you know how Gramps talked about him and Nana?  Like she was warm and always moving- like the ocean- while he was steady and distant, like the moon?  But, even though they were different, they were the perfect team.”  Harry flushed a bit and flailed.  “You’re my sister, of course!  I don’t want to marry you or anything!”  He turned a little green, which was more an amusing trick of the light bouncing off the curtains, but still amusing._

_Mallie butted her head up against Harry’s thigh, inordinately pleased when he immediately resumed scratching her ears._

_“But….you know, we make a great team, ya know?  Even though we’re different, we keep each other, er- balanced.”  Harry shrugged a little self-consciously.  “So if you were always going to make me Lord Potter- I can hire an assistant like Liv, right?- why not be Lady Black?  You’ve said that you remember reading about a different ‘version’ of me, right?  That’s why you told Bixbite about your ‘dreams’.  And I get why you’d feel uncomfortable as Lady Potter, even if I don’t agree at all.”  Harry glared at her until she stopped making noises of protest and attempting to interrupt him.  “Take the road less traveled.   Write your own story, you know?”_

_………_

_“Write your own story, you know?”_

Those words bounced around Heather’s head.  Had been since he’d said them.

_“Write your own story, you know?”_

Heather took another deep, calming breath and raised her head to meet Arcturus’ rather smug gaze.

_‘Arrogant jackass.’_   She thought rather uncharitably.

“I need to remain the Potter Heir until at least Christmas.”  Was what came out of her mouth, instead of any of the other million things currently spiraling around inside her aching head.

Probably for the best.

Arcturus furrowed his brow for a moment before he made a noise of enlightenment and smoothed out his expression.  “Ah, yes.  The matter of your guardianships.”  He mused aloud, leaning back in his opulent black chair and staring out the wide, open floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased an excellent view of the grounds.  “I concur.”  His intense gaze switched back to her and she forced herself to relax into the velvet cushioning of her own chair.  “Depending on what the Will- which should have been read immediately as is proper- says, that would be for the best.  It should be Sirius, as the boy’s godfather.  Let alone Sirius’ induction into the Potter family at fifteen by Charlus, Lord Potter, with dear Dorea who was not only Lady Potter, but Sirius’ family twice over through Orion and Walburga, in full agreement.”

“Lord Black, why can’t Sirius-?”  Heather began to ask, only to be cut off with a firm shake of the man’s head.

“Grandfather is the proper address.”  He began, a bit gentler than his usual tone, to which Heather nodded agreeably.

A simple enough request, she figured.

He certainly looked old enough to be a grandfather.  And really, inadvertently or not, he had done quite a bit to see Voldy ended.  Let alone him using Heather to conveniently foist off his title onto- which she felt a complicated bundle of emotions about still.

Heather was under no illusions that ending Voldy for good would be easy, but every little bit of preventive action counted in the grand scheme of things.

“Sirius.”  Arcturus began with a weary sounding sigh, hunching in on himself a bit.  “Was disowned magically once my son passed and Walburga technically became Lady Black.”  His lips thinned angrily.  “I had passed my title to my son during the sixties and had never intended to take up once again.  And by the time I realized Walburga had cast my eldest Grandson and several others out of the family by Right and Magic, I confined her to the Grimmauld house and stripped her of her title, retaking the mantle of Lord Black.”  He gave Heather an unhappy glare.  “Magic is a wondrous and terrible power, granddaughter.  She was never meant to be domesticated least of all the Olde Magicks.”

“With great power comes great responsibility.”  Heather quoted solemnly, feeling a strange sense of loss upon learning such a thing.

“Indeed.”  Arcturus continued with a sad half-smile.  “So while Sirius is my grandson and a male of the line of succession and therefore important, he cannot be made Heir or Lord.  The Black Family Magics would reject him.”

The ambient magic of the room stirred warningly and Heather nodded to show she understood.  “I am going to assume that when done correctly all judgments are final?”

“Correct.”  He replied with a pleased smile, though his eyes were still haunted.  “Disowning a family member by Right and Magic is a terrible thing.  Walburga died young, alone and tormented by the consequences of her actions.  She had been on the line of madness for decades, but magic is not kind to those who misuse her, granddaughter.”

“I will not forget that.”  Heather promised, somewhat sick to her stomach.

“However-“  Arcturus continued abruptly, hustling them past the solemn lesson.  “- given Sirius’ induction to the Potter family by Right and Magic, unless something truly foolish is inside the Will- though I have faith in the education Dorea and Charlus gave their son- Sirius has the strongest case- by law and magic- for custody.”

“When Headmaster Dumbledore left us with our mother’s family.”  Heather continued as steadily as she could, willfully ignoring his snort of derision and uncomplimentary mutterings.  “He mentioned Blood Wards as the reason for leaving us there.”

“Old Magick.”  Arcturus rumbled approvingly, pleased.   “The most dangerous and difficult of the Olde Magicks still known to us to work with.  The Potter men have always been known for their excellent taste in witches.  Pity the past few generations of Blacks cannot say the same.”

Heather was just going to take that as an underhanded compliment and move on.

“I remember watching our Mother die for us.”  She replied rather coolly, smoothing her hands down the front of her skirt.  “So I would say so.  At any rate, the Blood Wards haven’t….precisely worked as the Headmaster intended.”  Heather gave the elder man a too-sweet smile.  “They have unbound themselves from the residence and anchored themselves to me.”

Arcturus straightened up and leaned forward a bit.  “Are you certain?”

“As I can be.”  She answered, a bit taken aback.  “As part of my requested Audit my Manager had Gringotts examine the Blood Wards and that was their conclusion.”

“Hmph.”  The old man muttered as he leaned back and looked out over the grounds. 

Taking that as a cue to continue, Heather pushed forwards.  “Really, once our guardianship options are made known I can plan accordingly.”   She hesitated for a moment, taking another deep breath, before she voiced her plan.  “I am not particularly ….fond of my mother’s family, but our aunt did shelter us for a decade, despite her feeling towards magic.”  Heather gave Arcturus her best stern glare.

He subsided.  Ungracefully.

“My uncle was offered a position at the home office of his company not long before we left.  My aunt told me about it, via a letter slipping inside one of my books, and I didn’t find it until after we arrived at Diagon.”  Heather continued, a bit nervous with confiding her plan with someone else that wasn’t her brother.  “The home office is in Leicester, and I asked my assistant to do some research into the surrounding area.   Thanks to that information, I believe that Syston, a nearby smaller town, would be to my aunt’s liking.”  Heather noticed she had started gnawing on her bottom lip and forced herself to stop.  “There’s a neighborhood much like Little Whinging and I believe that if I arrange for a house there, her husband will take the job.  Then the ICW Intermediary Division can be notified that the that the family is being ‘read out’-”

“-which would prevent or at least severely inconvenience any magical who attempted to find them.”  Arcturus finished for her, a small smile playing about the edges of his mouth.  “You intend to keep the original home?”

“Yes.”  Heather replied with an unsure smile.  “It would be a rather simple matter to have the house kept up, at least for appearances sake.  And then the Dursleys would be neatly out of the way should I need to be…..creative about Harry and I’s arrangements.”

“An excellent contingency plan, then.”  Arcturus grimaced.  “I will freely admit that I would conduct myself differently, but it is an excellent course of action nonetheless.”

“I’ll need to speak to Bixbite before school starts then.”  Heather huffed rather amusedly.  “It would be best if they could look into houses as soon as possible.  The Dursleys are slow to change, so giving them the rest of this year to decide on a new house and prepare to move would be to their liking.  The position is for a man who is retiring, so Vernon has until May to firmly decide, really.”

“Do you plan on buying your mother’s relative an expensive new home?”  He asked her rather incredulously.

“Hell no.”  Heather replied with a derisive snort, crossing her legs primly and crossing her arms rather defiantly.  “I’m going to offer them a little less than half of what the house in Surrey is worth and the promise that we’ll never darken their doorstep again.  They’ll whine and cry, but they’re greedy and want us out of their lives on a permanent basis, so they’ll take it.  Or at least, Petunia will convince Vernon if only to not have to deal with us anymore.”  She smiled sharply at Arcturus’ raised eyebrow.  “What?”

“The more I hear you speak-”  He informed her with a rather wistful and far-off expression on his face.  “-the more you remind me of Dorea.  She was considered rather kind and forgiving, for a Black.  And she truly was.  But those of us who knew her best, knew that she merely saved up all of that anger and spite and unleashed it upon whatever hapless fool chose to mistake her kindness for weakness.  She was especially protective of those she loved and they were all the greater for it.” 

Well.

_That_ was an uncomfortably transparent observation.  Thought Heather was unsure about the ‘greater for it’ part.

Arcturus’ gaze refocused onto Heather and he smiled in a way that showed a hint of the man he’d once been.  A man whose line boasted strong-willed, fiercely loyal Sirius and heroic, tragic Regulus. “It seems strangely fitting, to me, that the hopes of the House of Potter and the House of Black rests with two children who remind me so very much of my favorite cousin and one of the bravest men I ever had the pleasure of knowing.  Charlus and I didn’t agree on much, but I respected him immensely.”  He rose from his chair and grabbed his cane, prompting Heather to rise as   “Come, granddaughter.”  He directed, offering his arm to her like a properly old timey gentleman.  “It is time for supper.”

Heather slipped her arm inside his, hoping like heck she was doing it properly and began to walk alongside him. 

_‘Now I just have to decide how to handle telling Bixbite and breaking the news to Liv.’_   Heather thought as they made their way through the pristine, elegant hallways of the Hall.  _‘I hope they won’t be too mad at me!  Bixbite especially, I don’t want to undermine her position- and what if Liv’s boy-toy had been closely related to the Blacks and she doesn’t want to work for me anymore?  I mean, I’m going to have to make it very clear she can still work for Harry, as a Potter aide, or we can try and find something else entirely if she’s that uncomfortable.  I don’t want her to feel like her home and her baby’s health is on the line, though!  And what am I going to do about the Montforts?’_

Out of the frying pan and into the fryer.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Sirius blinked his eyes open slowly, his brain strangely calm.

It took a bit to navigate the fog, but eventually he began to realize that he was warm.  He wasn’t a dog.  And there was something-

“Careful, Sirius.  You’ll wake them.” 

“Andy?”  He asked, his tongue heavy.

Sirius blinked his eyes open, staring around in confusion.  Eerily calm, so he must have had a potion, which was strange he hadn’t had one of those since before-

It took a moment, but ultimately, he realized that there were warm weights half draped across him. One topped with dark red hair and one with black hair.  There was a cat curled up on his stomach, sort of melted along the side of the redhead, while there was a pretty, golden dog laying along his other leg, sort of wedged between him and the dark haired body.  The dog opened its eyes and wagged its tail at him a little before burrowing a little deeper in the mess and going back to sleep.

Sirius’ wildly hopeful gaze looked over towards Andy. 

Suddenly he was so-

Andy waved her wand and he calmed a bit.  “Easy Sirius.”  She came closer and squeezed his hand.  “You’ve been in a healing sleep for the better part of a week.”  She tossed a smile at his sleeping partners.  “They’ve been keeping you company.  And after the second time they snuck in here Aunt Cassie just let them be.”  Andy winked.  “Personally, I think she was impressed.”

“They’re-“  Sirius tried to say, terrified even with all the artificial calm.  “Andy…Andy……..I-I can’t-“

“The redhead is Heather and the other one is Harry.  You’ve still got a week before they head off to Hogwarts.”  Andy smiled at him, tearful.  “Welcome home, Sirius.”

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Bixbite _laughed_ at her.

Full out belly laughed and nearly fell out of her chair onto her arse as a result.

Heather crossed her arms and glared, somewhat shocked and more than a little hurt.

“Forgive me, Heiress.”  Bixbite wheezed out between labored breaths.  “I meant no offense.  But only _you_ would be so concerned about the opinion of a Manager when offered the keys to the oldest, wealthiest family in whole of the Isles.”  Bixbite waved off Heather’s protest and smiled a toothy thing that was mildly menacing in and of itself but seemed friendly given Bixbite’s utterly exasperated body language.  “I assure you, Heiress, that while I am slightly disappointed that we shall no longer be Manager and Client, this is far from the end of our partnership.”

Now Heather was slightly confused.

Okay, she was a lot confused!  And she’d spent at _least_ a week positively _agonizing_ over how upset Bixbite might be from Heather’s planned ‘disloyalty’.

Bixbite waved a bejeweled clawed hand around lazily.  “I assure you, Heiress, we will not be parted for long.  Longaxe will be pleased as a tackfrag in a volcano to know that not only will he not be the last Clan of Axe Manager, but that his new Heiress is none other than _my Heiress_.”  Bixbite smirked; it seemed vaguely bloodthirsty.  “No, this is just our next strategic move in our campaign to raise the HHHouses of Potter and Black above those who thought that your Houses would yield and bow to Tom Riddle’s fearmongering.”

“So-“ Heather theorized slowly, the little bits of hurt and anger at Bixbite’s initial reaction melting away into something fierce and delighted.  “-what you’re saying is that now we just have even more weapons at _our_ disposal?”

Bixbite’s smile was savage, and Heather was strangely comforted by it.  “If your enemy goes to ground-“

“-leave no ground to go to.” Heather finished softly, her eyes feeling wide enough for her eyeballs to fall out.  “You don’t just want to see Voldy dead and the House of Potter profiting.  You want to destroy the financial legs of the people who funded him.”

“Sharp as an obsidian blade, as always, Heiress.”  Bixbite replied firmly, picking up her quill and returning her gaze to her work.

Heather, meanwhile, was having a cross between an existential crisis and an epiphany.

Because-

_Bixbite was right._

Heather had always known that Voldemort was a symptom, not a cure.  Much like McCheetoface’s campaign, Voldemort merely capitalized on the hate, fear and bruised sense of entitlement that already existed within the Isles and acted like he was the only person who could ‘solve’ the problem. 

A lot of those people hadn’t needed more than a cause to hide behind.  All it really took was a single person willing to stand up, make a powerful display, and then promise to fix all the group’s problems by hurting other people- the ‘problems’- for the dissatisfied, the abused, and the power hungry to flock to Voldemort.

Heather had _never_ understood those sorts of people. 

Because if a leader was perfectly okay with killing someone else’s kids, he’ll kill his followers’ kids too.  If he’d torture a servant senseless for getting him the wrong drink, one day that very well might be just whoever displeased him that week.   If he mind controls someone to walk to their own death or forces them to kill their own loved ones while his followers stand in the background and laugh- guess what, that means he’s perfectly capable of doing that to his own people as well.  If he rewards a follower for framing or killing a fellow follower, then he’s not going to be all morally offended when karma comes back around and politely knocks.

Power mad people who lived in a world of ‘I can do whatever I want and there will be no consequences whatsoever’ and trampled all over everyone else along the way were a blight upon the tapestry humanity.  Er, humanity and humanoid kind?

Back to the point, Heather’s smile sharpened and something in her chest rattled loose, make her feel far more prepared and focused than she had in…..well, forever.

She still wasn’t exactly sure where she wanted to go in this life, what path she wanted to take.  And she was still struggling a little bit, because she felt a little like there should be a blank screen and a narrator to summarize the rest of the story from here, but _this was her life_.

Sure time might blur sometimes, but that was just time being a jerk.

But having a goal of undercutting Voldy’s financial backing?  That would take years.  Years of researching, plotting, subplotting, hard work, creativity, and patience.    She’d need to learn about magic: wards, runes, spells, languages.  She might even need to take some classes on the other side- businesses was an ever evolving game and nonmagicals were very good at it- and then-

Well. 

Then she’d be living.  Fighting on her own terms.

She didn’t want to be a miser mogul.  She wanted to break the holds of the likes of Lucius Malfoy and then bring in new ideas.  Create jobs and invest in the world her parents had died for! 

Heather rose from her seat and looped the strap of her satchel over her shoulder.  “Well, here’s to conquest and being conquerors, I suppose.”  She said to her Manager with a wry grin as she turned to leave. “Do restrain yourself from taking over the whole Bank before I graduate from Hogwarts, ‘kay Bixbite?  We wouldn’t want to grow bored of conquering.”

Bixbite’s throaty laughter followed Heather out the door.

Gnashchaw looked extremely curious, but didn’t ask.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Nymphadora Tonks had been having a _brilliant_ fortnight.

First, her mother’s favorite cousin had been found to not only be innocent of the crime he had been accused of, but Lord Black had discovered that Sirius had never even had a trial!

Then, her mother had been contacted by her estranged family to take care of Sirius.  Andromeda had mostly taken the job for Sirius, as opposed to the old biddies who had tossed her out for marrying Nymphadora’s dad, but that hadn’t even been the best part!

Nymphadora had gotten to meet her cousins!  At Blackmoor Hall, even!

Well, ok, Heather and Harry were pretty distantly related, but they were _so cute_!  It was almost like she’d finally gotten the siblings she’d always wanted!

But, even then-

_“Aunt Andy said you were Metamorphagus?  You can make yourself look like other people?”  Harry said curiously, and Tonks felt her smile becoming slightly fixed._

_‘Here we go.’  She thought rather sourly._

_Harry’s face scrunched up in thought.  “Don’t you ever get lost?  Like, Heather does that sometimes- she’ll get so into a story that she has to take a step back, because it sort of takes over her brain.  I imagine it’d be worse if you could make yourself look and act like someone else.”_

_Heather elbowed Harry and scowled at him._

_“It’s true!”  He defended himself, trying to stay out of range from his exasperated sister._

_Tonks, meanwhile, felt a bit poleaxed.  That….wasn’t the usual reaction.  Actually, very few people had ever commented on what Tonks might feel, more focused on what she could do._

_“A little, when I was little.”  Tonks oh-so-eloquently replied.  Her face turned bright red and she waved her arms around a bit.  “I mean, I look a lot like mean ol’ Aunt Bellatrix, so it’s easier for me to look more like my dad.”_

_“That’s not fair to you.”  Heather refuted with a frown, abandoning her pursuit of her brother to stare at Tonks with wide violet eyes.  “You’re you.  If people are stupid enough to see a crazy madwoman when they look at you, that’s their problem, not yours.  You’re your own person and you have the reasonable expectation to be treated as such.”_

_Harry crossed his arms across his chest and nodded in the all-knowing wisdom of a child.  “Exactly.  Heather-feather said so.”_

_Tonks broke out into a wide, excited grin and bounced over to glomp her cute baby cousins in an exuberant hug.  “You guys aren’t ever getting rid of me now!”  She declared to the laughing Potter twins.  “Team Tonks for life!”_

And, truthfully, Tonks had meant it.  Not even some of her closest friends understood the struggle Tonks felt sometimes.  The occasional, ‘you’d think she’d have better hair’ or ‘are those your real thighs, or are you making fun of me’ were annoying and somewhat hurtful.  But whenever she tried to bring it up, her feelings would be brushed aside as in the name of humor.  Or, intermittently, she’d get a lecture on how creepy or invasive other people found her ability, and she should just grin and bear ‘a little teasing’ about it.

But no one had ever learned of her ability and been like, ‘wow, that has to suck a little’ right off the bat.  Nor had anyone outside of her mum and dad ever outright told her that having an eerie resemblance to Crazy Bellatrix wasn’t her fault, and that other people should just get over themselves instead of asking her to morph the differences out a little.

It was….cool.

The twins and Tonks spent a fair bit of time exploring the place, and Tonks was nearly uncomfortable with how well she and Heather got on.  Not that Harry wasn’t also her favoritest cousin, but Heather and Tonks just seemed to _click_ , despite their age difference.

_“I remember Heather-feather telling me that she felt like she’d lived a whole life before this one, once.”  Harry had told her one night when Heather had been called off to speak with Grandfather Arcturus in his office.  They had been wandering around the library- which was friggin’ huge- and killing time until Heather came back.  “I’m not sure how much she thinks about it anymore, but I really do think my sister is older inside her head than I am.” Harry grinned at Tonks.  “I’m really glad you’re our cousin, Tonks!  But, mostly, I’m really glad that Heather-feather finally found a friend.”  Harry scowled at the nearest book.”  She’s always going on about how I’ll find wonderful friends and everything, but she never talks about making any herself.  Which is really sad, because Heather’s an awesome friend to have.”_

Tonks heartily agreed. 

Especially now, stumbling in to Blackmoor Hall at nearly eight in the evening, after a full day of her and Heather off being irresponsible together in nearby muggle Blackpool.  Heather was hanging onto Tonks’ waist to keep herself upright, far too full of some bloody wicked Chinese food and those layered cake things that went surprisingly well with ice cream and half-asleep on her feet.

“I would yell at you, Nymphadora.”  Her mum informed Tonks’ with that half-raised eyebrow trick that always made Tonks’ dad confess to eating the last breakfast pastry.  “But as you had Aunt Cassie tag you with monitoring and tracking charms and you, yourself, are of age, I won’t.”  Tonks’ mum came closer and levitated the now fully asleep Heather.  “Besides.”  She said as she gently levitated Heather up the stairs.  “I think it’s sweet that you’ve gotten so attached to your cousins.  They’ll need you, in the days to come.  There’s still more than a few high tempers from recent events, and while I entirely approve of Grandfather and Aunt Cassie and Aunt Lucretia forcing the Ministry to give Siri his bloody day in court, not everyone is happy about that.”  She cast Tonks a meaningful look.  “And some of those unhappy people will have children or other young relatives at Hogwarts.”

“You really think they’d try something in Hogwarts?”  Tonks blurted out anxiously, tripping over a step and nearly falling arse over teakettle.  “With Professor Dumbledore there?”

“As much as I respect the Headmaster- magic knows your father and I never would have managed to graduate otherwise- bear in mind that although the numbers have hit an all-time low with Dumbledore at the helm of Hogwarts, at least one student gets seriously injured, if not killed, about every other year or so.”  Her mum reminded her pointedly as they reached the twins’ rooms.  “So keep your eyes and ears open while you’re out and about.  Sometimes the best plans are foiled by a single misplaced whisper or one person’s boasting, and I feel the twins will need all the genuine friends they can find.”

Tonks would!  What kind of Auror would she be if she couldn’t even look after her super cute little cousins?!

**\--XXX---**

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.

Liv was a bit startled by Cassiopeia Black’s appearance at the Potter office, more specifically her office with the door sliding shut soundlessly behind her, but Liv tried her best to calm herself.

Cassiopeia Black was a bloody _legend_ , ok?

“May I help you, Lady Black?”  Liv asked nervously, trying to settle her nerves as her stomach was already queasy.

Stupid pregnancy hormone bullshit.

“Madam Cassie will do, Olivia.”  The older woman informed her rather nonchalantly, slipping off her gloves and placing them inside her purse and straightening her hat a bit.  “I’m here to speak with you on behalf of Heiress Potter, who has been unable to come see you in person and didn’t wish to inform you of events via the post.”

“Ok.”  Liv replied, anxiously biting her lip and trying to keep herself from crying.

‘ _Shite_!”  She panicked as her eyes filled against her will and her stomach rebelled violently.

The next thing Liv knew, she was throwing up into a rubbish bin, tears leaking out of her eyes, and feeling utterly humiliated.

‘ _Way to make an impression, Olivia._ ’  She groused to herself as she older woman rubbed soothing circles on her back and Liv’s heaving finally came to an end.  Madam Cassie handed her a damp cloth, which she accepted meekly, before the older woman banished the contents of the rubbish bin.

“Am I being let go?”  Liv inquired meekly, unable to look up and face the other woman while she couldn’t get her tears and hiccups under control.

Madam Cassie snorted derisively.  “Hardly.”  She drawled, amused.  “Young Heather has been spending most of the past week with Sirius and her brother, so she’s been a bit preoccupied.  She’s meeting with Manager Bixbite this afternoon and she simply lacked the time to meet with you as well, as Sirius wanted to give the twins a proper pre-Hogwarts sendoff.”

“Ok.”  Liv managed around the lump in her throat.  “Th-that’s fine.  I’m pleased that my Lady has been getting some rest.”

“Hmph.”  Madam Cassie replied before the older woman flicked Olivia’s chin, made her look up, and offered another damp cloth.  Efficiently the older woman had cleaned Liv’s mouth and throat from the feeling of burning bile and had also helped her see a bit better, so Liv assumed her face wasn’t quite as much of a mess.  “There, much better.”  Madam Cassie said with an approving nod as she stepped back.  “Now, on to business-“  She continued briskly and Liv was beyond irritated with the fact she couldn’t cease blubbering.  “-Heiress Potter will so be abdicating her position in favor of her brother and has spent no small amount of time fretting over how to inform you in such a way that did not make you feel overly worried or concerned for yourself or you child’s health as she was uncertain if you would wish to remain her assistant when she becomes Heiress- and later Lady- Black.”

“What?”  Liv asked, utterly confused.  On the bright side, she managed to stop crying.  _Finally_.  “Why wouldn’t I-?”

“My thoughts precisely.”  Madam Cassie huffed, far too disciplined to roll her eyes, but certainly implying the desire to make such a gesture.  “Heather was concerned that your child’s progenitor might have had dealings with house Black ad she did not wish to make you uncomfortable.”  Madam Cassie gave the slack-jawed Liv a look, and the younger woman quickly stopped trying to protest.  “Harry has already said that you may keep your cottage free of property tithes for as long as you are still employed by his sister, and if you should choose to pursue alternate employment, arrangements could be made.”

“That _is_ comforting and his generosity is greatly appreciated.”  Liv mentioned offhandedly.  “But I still see no cause for me to leave my Lady’s service.”

“That, my dear.”  Madam Cassie drawled dryly from her place by the guest chairs.  “Is precisely what _I_ told her.  You’ll be released from your Potter contract and asked to sign a new one, of course, but other than that the choice of whether or not you still wish to be her secretary is entirely up to you.”

“Then there should be no question.”  Liv snapped with a bit more heat than she meant to.  _‘Stupid bullshit pregnancy hormones_.’  “I am my Lady’s faithful servant, wherever she might chose to lead.”

Madam Cassie gave her an approving nod, slipping her hands back into her elbow-length gloves primly.  “Excellent.  I shall hold you to that, my dear.” The older woman gave Liv a perfectly bland smile.  “This should be the part where I make a casual threat to ensure you are aware that betraying my adorable little Great-Niece would be a foolish decision.  Given your condition and your response, however, I shall refrain.”  The smile turned a bit sharper without ever actually changing and Liv was nothing but impressed by the sheer amount of menacing doom it managed to exude.  “But do look up the story of how Hamburg Gamp met his end, hm?

Liv jotted down a note about it.

“Excellent!”  Madam Cassie proclaimed, situation the sleeve of her final gloves and sling non-threateningly at Liv.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go have a chat with the Montforts.  Unfortunately the former Black solicitors are indisposed and Heather wished to give them options as well.”

And then she was gone.

‘Well, that was interesting.’  Was about all Liv managed to think before her stomach had her running for the loo.  ‘ _And I’m only about twenty-four weeks in!  I don’t know how I’m going to manage to last the next three and a half months!’_

 

 

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**\---XXX---**

Arthur looked up from where he’d been hunched over the end-of-quarter reports.  “Yes, Perkins?”

“Ah, forgive me Arthur, but there is a……Miss Robinson here to see you?”  Brent Perkins, Arthur’s only employee, was a tall, thin man with a permanently pinched expression, greying hair, and sharp dark eyes.

“Send her in, Perkins.”  Arthur sighed, wondering if there had been an appointment he’d forgotten.  The past two days since the trial of Sirius Black and Percy’s former pet had been hectic, and he was fully aware Molly’s special Perk-Me-Up Potions could only do so much.

The young, brown haired woman who entered was dressed simply, obviously pregnant, and-

Oh.

_Oh no._

That was the House of Potter crest on her outer robes.

Arthur rose, banging his knee on his desk and knocking over a precariously piled stack of reports.  Suddenly fumbling to compose himself, it was difficult to even think with the panicked worry bubbled inside his chest.  Because, unknowingly or not, his family had played host to the true betrayer of the Potter Family and the twins were under the roof of Arcturus Black, the man who had nearly unleashed the Rites of Vengeance and-

“Please calm yourself, Director Weasley.” The young woman implored soothingly, halting Arthur in his tracks before he even managed to make it around his desk.

The tips of his ears were burning.  Molly could use them to fry eggs, he was certain.

Arthur shuffled back and sat down into his chair relatively ungracefully.  “Y-yes?”  He coughed embarrassedly.  “Yes, Miss Robinson?”

The young woman smiled kindly at him and withdrew a rolled up parchment with a thick wax seal.  “My Lady wished for me to deliver this to you, personally, so that I might answer any questions you might have.”

His hands shook lightly as he took the scroll from her.  He took a deep breath and quickly broke the intricate seal, unrolling the parchment with no little amount of trepidation.

_“To Arthur and Molly Weasley,_

_Firstly my brother and I would like to extend our most sincere and heartfelt apologies to your family._

_While we are incredibly pleased that Peter Pettigrew has been justly punished for his crime, and even happier that Harry’s Godfather, Sirius, is no longer being tormented for a crime he did not commit, we cannot help but feel somewhat responsible for your family’s current discomfort._

_We wish to assure you that we hold no ill-will or grudge for your unwitting part in sheltering the betrayer of our parents and, in fact, are rather offended on your behalf._

_Mr. Weasley is a Department Head and we are of the opinion that the Ministry should have discovered Pettigrew ages ago._

_Instead, the Ministry has consistently cut back on programs meant to protect the families of public servants and the DMLE.  In fact, the Auror budget is at the lowest it has been since 1907!_

_That, we feel, is a travesty._

_We realize that the Weasley family is a family that prides themselves on their principles and their dedication to protecting those who cannot protect themselves._

_Well, please allow us to respond in kind._

_The Ministry that should have taken care of your family failed you, we cannot change that.  The traitor who killed our parents pretended to be a companion to at least one of your children, and we cannot possibly help that betrayed child heal.  Your home, the sanctuary in which you have raised your family, was defiled and we can do nothing to help you reclaim your sense of peace and security._

_What we can do, however, is offer you due compensation so that you might better heal yourselves._

_Please understand that this is not charity or pity.  This is the only thing we could think of that we could offer to help your family recover from Peter Pettigrew’s cowardly treachery._

_Something we, as you well know, are intimately acquainted with._

_Harry and I know better than most that money cannot fix life’s problems.  We’d give all the gold and material things in our Vaults to have our parents back.  But we are well aware that money cannot replace precious people or love or what truly matters.  My brother and I beg you to accept this gift, even though it might seem insensitive or uncomfortable to ask such a thing._

_We ask that you accept our small token of our gratitude.  Take it and ignore the chatter and gossip for a while.  Because we cannot help your family heal, but we can buy a little time for you to do so together._

_As a last plea for you to accept our gift, we would like to inform you that this monetary compensation came from appreciative bequeathments, not directly from the House Potter Vaults._

_Sincerely,_

_Heather  and Harry Potter”_

Arthur’s first instinct was to protest.

“Before you protest, Mr. Weasley.”  Miss Robinson interrupted with a small smile.  “Please know that my Lady and her brother were quite upset on your family’s behalf, especially considering the stories in the Prophet.  In fact, my Lady spent half the night attempting to compose that letter and fully intended to send your family roughly three times the amount at the bottom, quite insistent that your family had also suffered irreparable harm, if in a different manner than the twins and Sirius Black.”  Miss Robinson rose to her feet, wobbling light in that way pregnant witches were prone to do in the latter months of pregnancy.

Molly had had a terrible time with Percy. She’d spent most of that pregnancy randomly overbalancing due to her magic being finicky.

Perhaps sensing his wavering, Miss Robinson smiled wider.  “I’ll inform my Lady’s Manager to authorize the transfer. Enjoy the remaining time before Hogwarts, Director Weasley.”

Then she was gone, leaving Arthur with a neatly written note and his turbulent thoughts.

“Arthur?”  Perkins asked a bit later, rapping his knuckles on the open door to Arthur’s tiny office and startling him from his thoughts. “Is everything alright?”  Perkins shuffled forward and deposited some documents on the desk, giving his boss a worried look.

“Yes.”  Arthur replied, smiling and rolling up the missive.  While it grated against his pride to accept charity, knowing that the funds had come from bequeathments went a long way towards convincing him, and- well, he just couldn’t refuse a gift without feeling like an arse. 

First of all, as a father, he’d be mightily offended if Ron or Ginny had put such thought and care into a gift only to have it rejected.

He sincerely doubted that the twins hadn’t gotten some help from Cassiopeia or Arcturus- given that the young woman had been wearing the official House of Potter Coat-of-Arms, something that would have required the Potter Seal to authorize- which meant that he wasn’t taking advantage of a couple uninformed children.   They had been thoughtful enough to not simply throw money at the problem, and in fact acknowledged that money _wasn’t_ going to miraculously fix all the damage done by Pettigrew’s discovery, showing a level of maturity that Arthur would expect of _Bill,_ not necessarily Ron.

So Arthur would accept their gift and take some time off to be with his family.  Perhaps there would be enough to get poor Percy a truly benign pet and Ron a wand of his own.

‘ _Perhaps Molly would like to make them a jumper?  As a thank you.  Her jumpers are delightfully comfortable._ ’  He mused a while later, after informing Perkins that he’d be back to work the second of September.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――.
> 
> *A nod to the lovely Saj_te_Gyuhyall (Ao3) who pointed out how taking Tolkien out of the universe would have a massive effect and then helping me plot my way out the situation!
> 
> *A nod to the lovely ChaosBabe’s little giftfic ‘Little Orphan Son’.
> 
>  
> 
>  


	9. Forward Momentum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――
> 
> A/N:
> 
> A sincere and heartfelt thank-you to the lovely and benevolent Madrigal-in-Training for her- yet again- brilliant and indispensable efforts in helping me convey my plot points when I got stuck!
> 
> Also a thanks to the lovely EmptySurface and the intrepid worldtravellingfly for their inspiration and general coconspirator antics~!
> 
> I know that seems like a lot of people for a self-proclaimed introvert to speak with, but this next part really gave me fits and I really did need that many different points of view!
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who reads this self-indulgent fluff! And virtual cookies to everyone who lets me know they're reading and enjoying this!
> 
> ―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**-XXX-**

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Sirius wished he could get a grip on his emotions.

He was finally out of Azkaban and with his niece and nephew- he and James were _brothers_ ; it didn't matter that Sirius was only Harry's godfather on paper, both twins were Sirius' family- and he couldn't- he just couldn't-

A wave of calm washed over him and his thoughts died down to a dull roar.

"Easy, Sirius." Andy whispered as he sobbed loudly into the cushion that was somehow in his hands. "Easy."

Something wet licked his cheek and Sirius laughed.

The next thing he knew the golden dog that had been there the first time he had woken up was laying on him, licking his face like an overeager puppy.

Once he had gathered himself and managed to sit back up, the dog's head in his lap, he noticed his brother's precious children playing some sort of muggle board game nearby.

"Oh! Hey, Sirius! You wanna play?" Harry asked cheerfully, as if having one's godfather have a mental breakdown in his bedroom suite was a normal occurrence.

Heather waved merrily before returning her hands to the cat lying beside her.

And once again Sirius' heart felt stupidly overfull, like the very first time he'd met the twins as wrinkly little tiny humans who liked to coo, drool, and squall.

Sirius scooted closer, happy when the dog came to lie back down beside him and grinned at his godkids. "So, what are the rules and how do we break them?" He asked interestedly, petting the golden fur under his fingers.

"Well, this game is called Clue and it's Harry's favorite-"

**-XXX-**

It had started with an innocent suggestion from Harry about leaving Mallie with Sirius.

Sirius had been upset with the idea of 'stealing' Mallie, and it had taken some serious mediation from Heather, Aunt Cassie, and Aunt Andy but the issue had been eventually untangled.

Then Heather had suggested that Sirius get a puppy and books on animal care and training. A brainstorming session was had- with Sirius' input and then continued after he went to sleep after his Potions.

Apparently the idea- and the twins' glowing recommendations of emotional support animals- held merit to the adults who knew just how deeply Sirius had been damaged by Azkaban. Far more than Heather had truly realized. Aunt Cassie and Aunt Andy had absconded with Liv for the next few days, but when they came back they had a _plan_.

Heather wasn't sure on all of the plotting details, but there was an outing to London proper- even Grandfather came!- to find Sirius a puppy. It had been heartwarming to see a completely excited Sirius dart around playing with the different dog breeds, finally deciding on a super energetic little chocolate Labrador that tended to get so excited he tripped over his own paws.

He was promptly named Snuffles, for the noise he made when he tripped and faceplanted.

Sirius and Snuffles would be attending classes and training sessions about three times a week, and Sirius was given lots of books about caring for his new puppy.

It was amazing how much caring for Snuffles helped Sirius focus.

Mallie welcomed the excitable little guy with all the patience of a mamma dog- she had a tendency to pin down the little one for naps when he annoyed her too much- and Chromie liked to sit where Snuffles couldn't reach her and gaze smugly down at the yapping peasant, tail curled around herself haughtily.

At least, that was how Heather interpreted the expression. The twins and Sirius had a lot of fun watching the puppy try to get Chromie to play with him. Eventually snuffles would get bored and happily run over to Sirius, usually destroying the game they had spread out on the floor between them.

It made Sirius laugh every single time.

Aunt Cassie prudently assigned an elf follow Snuffles around to keep him from accidentally chewing up something expensive. His collar was supposed to give him a gentle reprimand when he chewed on something he wasn't supposed to, but it was a new enchanted item and Aunt Cassie didn't want to risk Blackmoor hall's decorations.

At any rate, before they knew it, September first had arrived.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

They were standing in the Floo Receiving Room, nearly ready to take the crazy fire transportation to one of the Floo points at King's Cross Station.

Harry looked so cute, too!

At Aunt Cassie's insistence the twins had allowed her to dress them for their big day, something that apparently their grandparents would have done, by tradition. Heather had been a bit confused, but apparently it was a cultural and family thing that the elder generation had been raised with and had only fallen out of practice with all of the losses in the past few wars.

Harry certainly looked sharp in his polished sturdy dragonshide boots, dark slacks, crisp button up white shirt- predictably rolled up at the sleeves, but while Aunt Cassie had sniffed disapprovingly, she hadn't fussed overmuch- with one of Sirius' old red ties at the neck, a black v-neck, sleeveless sweater thing pulled on over the top of that, and his hair somewhat tamed. Aunt Cassie had also found some handsome, dual toned over robes that had once their father's and had been in Sirius' trunk- which the Ministry had confiscated but had been unable to open- but after taking pictures she had flicked her wand and banished it into Harry's trunk.

Aunt Cassie was not easily fooled. And she also knew the odds of eating food while on a moving train meant the robes were in danger of food decoration. Heather's own outer robes had been summarily banished to her trunk as well. The robes, while used, had been fitted with new, blank Hogwarts crests in preparation for their Sorting.

Heather, herself, was relatively pleased with her outfit. It was a bit more modern than she was expecting, but it wasn't a dress! The long, taffeta navy skirt ended precisely at her ankles, and had a widening patch of blue-violet that ran from a pencil thin line at the right side of the waist to a broom-head sized patch at the corresponding hem. Heather also had a crisp white shirt- that was rolled up to the elbows- but her vest was made of the same material as her skirt, sleeveless, buttoned down, with a wide sort of triangle shaped collar- the same color as her blue-violet strip on her skirt- that folded down neatly and kept her from feeling like she was suffocating. Her tie was alternately blue and purple, and she loved it.

Her shoes- oh, _her_ _shoes_. Technically they were ankle boots, and they matched her dress perfectly. They had just a bit of a heel- which was thankfully a flat and sturdy heel, not a freaking stiletto; she'd never been able to walk in those death traps!- with a set of wide silver buckles on their dominant sides.

They were also nearly sinfully comfortable, much like her outfit. Magic made the skirt lightweight and airy, and all she needed to wear underneath was a rather old-fashioned but supremely silky and comfortable shift instead of the full complement of petticoats Heather had secretly feared she'd need. She'd told Aunt Cassie that so long as her clothes were this comfortable and she could roll up the sleeves on her shirt when she got too warm, she wouldn't complain.

Aunt Cassie had taken that to heart and had ordered Mimsy to pack some suspiciously tailored and equally shiftily freshly laundered similar outfits into Heather's trunk.

Meh. Heather would let Aunt Cassie have her fun.

Technically Heather's favorite clothes were jeans and a t-shirt. Even if she'd needed to get a few pairs custom made at the seamstress shop in Horiont since early 90's fashion were a far cry from the comfortable and lightweight casual wear she'd been fond of before.

Amazing how the little details of comfort apparel could persist, even if they were a little fuzzy and some spontaneous creativity had been needed to bring her desired clothes to life.

Harry had done her hair, as usual. Aunt Cassie was surprisingly approving of his habit and had only provided a selection of accessories for Harry to use as fastenings. Her hair had ended up in a sideswept braid that trailed over the left side of her head and ended in a pinned up bun near the nape of her neck. Harry had laid a silver stem of flowers down the upper side of the braid- it had teeth and magic, so it hadn't fallen out yet- and a little bun-cage-thing around her wound up hair.

It was pretty and complicated and she was, not for the first, time glad her brother had hair-twisting talent because she, herself, failed spectacularly at doing her own hair.

Her over robes were much like Harry's; they ended just short of her wrist at the arms and matched the hem of her skirt perfectly, had wide sleeves, were open at the front, and folded back neatly at the collar. Heather's skirt even had a nifty little front right pocket that now held the pocket watch her grandmother had worn since Aunt Cassie had gifted it to her, the day Aunt Cassie had first boarded the Hogwarts Express. The thin, silver chain looped around one of the buttons on her vest and the paperweight end hung just below the vest's hem.

Heather found the history of the trek to Hogwarts fascinating.

Apparently the journey had always taken the better part of September first, for as long as any records existed. Originally, as Hogwarts was technically Unplottable, students had traveled- and later Portkey'ed- to an original structure near the tower of London, which actually had a very rich history that magic only made more interesting. The students had then been taken to Hogwarts by an enchanted flying train of carriages. Well, the carriages were pulled by horses until they made it to a warded clearing and then the horses were untethered and the carriages were directed by a Head of House to Hogwarts.

When trains arrived in the United Kingdom, the Council of Nobles had taken note, as the costly and meticulous upkeep of the carriages and the original gathering point of the White Tower were growing increasingly tougher to sustain. Thus, a mandate had been handed down and in 1853 the Hogwarts Express, the red and gold steam engine Heather had always associated with Hogwarts in her head, had begun its service.

Originally families could Apparate, Floo or Portkey directly to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Muggleborns were dropped off at the Leaky Caldron and Floo'ed to the Platform from there.

The Great War had changed that.

New wards had been installed, per an ICW directive, ones that would hopefully prevent the obliteration of magicals in the event of discovery and a bombing order. To prevent accidents or sabotage- and partially due to the wards being incompatible with certain types of magic- four Floo and Portkey stations were made along with two Apparition points. The station had several detection wards- that only Department Heads and a few others at the Ministry were supposed to know about, but Aunt Cassie was _Aunt Cassie_ \- that were supposed to serve as fail safes, as well as the multitude of fail safes built into the portal itself.

Students and parents were highly encouraged to not shrink trunks until after their arrival on the Platform, as that made them less noticeable, which helped the magic misdirect attention. Same with the end of the year, just reversed.

So, the Express journey was actually a tradition that stemmed from before written record and even families such as the Malfoys had to walk at least half the length of King's Cross every September and June, due to wizarding paranoia and security protocols.

Learn something new every day!

Sirius had tired himself out yesterday, so as much as he had wanted to see them off, Aunt Andy had made him lay down. Heather also suspected some sort of sleeping potion as well. So, it was just her, Harry, Aunt Cassie, and Grandfather; though only Aunt Cassie would be going with them as their escort.

Sirius was…broken. He had only been awake for the past five or six days and he was still very much damaged by his time in Azkaban, so his emotions were all over the place. He bounced around from sobbing and asking for forgiveness, trying to squeeze all the details of the last ten years out of them, and lashing out, demanding to see the rat so he could kill Peter for betraying James and Lily.

The twins had been sternly ordered to write him and assured that by the Christmas Hols Sirius would be much more like himself, though his time in Azkaban would always haunt his steps.

"Ready?" Harry asked Heather somewhat nervously, going to rub his palms down his slacks before he stopped and glanced guiltily at Aunt Cassie.

Who was looking at him warningly, silently _daring_ him to do what he'd been about to do in range of her wand.

Harry laughed nervously and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"As ready as I'll ever be." Heather informed him dryly. She turned to look at the two adults. "Thank you for everything, Grandfather."

"Hmph." Arcturus huffed grouchily, pretending to be annoyed. "Well, go on then, granddaughter, Great-Nephew. Do the family proud."

The twins exchanged glances, doing that wordless communication afforded to siblings and best friends, before they both stepped forward and hugged the old man.

Arcturus grumbled, griped, and pretended to be annoyed, but Heather could feel the pleased sunbursts of happiness inside the Black Family Magic.

"Well, off with you then." He ordered gruffly, patting them both on the heads, nodding to Aunt Cassie, and then stalking out of the room.

"Truly the best of dearest Dorea and her Charlus." Aunt Cassie muttered, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief before she straightened and nodded firmly.

**-XXX-**

Mallie and Chromie had been mildly annoyed at being temporarily Transfigured into inanimate objects in order to use the Floo- which Heather had only agreed to after assurances from all three adults and a few supplementary texts on how it wouldn't hurt their companions to be Transfigured for a very brief amount of time- but they had been happy enough to explore somewhere new.

Mallie was on a leash while Chromie was in a carrier. Heather knew her cantankerous little ball of fluff and didn't trust her not to flop down and make a nuisance of herself if put on a leash, so a temporary cage it was. Mallie was gentle enough that she gamely plodded on beside Harry without much direction, occasionally allowing a passing small child- "Puppy, mummy! Puppy!"- to pet her, even though they tended to tug on her fur.

Hedwig had been sent off with a few letters yesterday and would be meeting them at Hogwarts.

Then they were through the Barrier and on the Platform.

The red and gold steam engine wasn't there.

Heather felt suddenly off kilter.

Her mind screeched to a halt and her body abruptly locked in its place.

' _Wha-?!'_

Then a whistle sounded, and off to the side, out of a firehouse-looking building she hadn't noticed, the Express slowly began to pull out, an impossibly long number of cars trailing behind it.

Heather finally remembered to breathe.

"Excellent." Aunt Cassie said approvingly. "Precisely on time."

_Oh_.

Heather checked her pocket watch. _'10:01 A.M. on the dot.'_ She realized with a tad bit of chagrin.

Aunt Cassie turned to them and smiled softly. "Be good to each other and never forget: Family first."

"Yes, Aunt Cassie." They chorused obediently.

She patted each one of them on the cheek and then straightened, just as others began to pour in from the station proper. "Well, off with you then. And do remember to call Mimsy, so that we might know your Sorting before the masses."

Heather nearly laughed. Aunt Cassie had been having a field day with the Prophet since _that article_ and Cousin Dora said that the Editor-in-Chief was rumored to have developed a nervous twitch just from hearing Aunt Cassie's name mentioned in his hearing range.

**-XXX-**

Getting on the train had been simple: tap the shrinking runes and herd the animals. Harry and Heather had chosen to lay claim the last car on the far side of the train, just before the car marked for luggage.

Mostly because the station was about to become very noisy and people-y and Heather could only handle feeling surrounded without an escape for short periods of time.

Once they had properly situated their shrunken trunks, they taped the runes to reverse the shrinking charms. Then they dug out their respective outer robes, stashed them in Heather's satchel, and placed the trunks overhead, in the luggage rack.

Mostly because Aunt Cassie had told them to; though Heather hadn't had the chance to ask _why_.

Heather had a new satchel- a magical upgrade of her old one; it was a nice matte grey color with neat buckles- and it held the care basket from the Black Elves. She had been going to stash their over robes in there, but Aunt Cassie had banished into their respective trunks them before she'd gotten the chance.

The inside of the car was cozy. Overstuffed, comfy red bench seats, a wide window that let in air that was suspiciously cooler than the station proper, and thick, plush carpeting underfoot. The car was fairly tall, and most of the accents were gold; save for the double doors which were a deep red-brown and had old fashioned, frosted lantern windows. The knobs were gold, though, so there was plenty design continuity.

For a long moment, Heather and Harry stood awkwardly in the middle of the car and looked at each other, confused.

Then Mallie plopped herself down on the carpet and rolled around like she was in a shampoo commercial. Her tongue lolled out of the side of her mouth and her paws scraped against empty air as she wriggled around happily.

The twins both burst out laughing.

Chromie meowed impatiently and Heather was quick to let her kitty out.

Aforementioned kitty hopped down, landing lighting on her paws, and sniffed around a bit before she trotted over to Mallie, who had rolled onto her side, and curled up next to the dog, directly in a patch of sunshine.

"Well." Heather said dryly, sitting down on the nearest bench seat and unstrapping her satchel. "At least _those two_ are right at home."

"Right?" Harry replied with a wide grin, bouncing over to sprawl out beside her. "It just feels a little strange to be here, you know?"

"Hmm." Heather hummed as she rummaged round for her newest book- the one that told the sordid tale of the Ministry censoring JRR Tolkien for his portrayal of 'humanoid magical beasts'- and absently rummaged for Harry's favorite 'Heather's reading' game, Boggle.

It was a little sixteen-square cube that showed random letters when shaken. There was a timer and players were supposed to figure out as many connected words as possible from the face up letters. When the timer ran out, players were supposed to compare their lists of words and remove any words found by multiple players. Harry liked to play against himself- he had all sorts of self-imposed rules- as much as he liked to play against Heather, so it would entertain him until he grew bored enough to request a game of Trivial Pursuit, or travel Scrabble. Game of Life, Monopoly, Clue, and the others were a bit too unwieldly for a train, but they might get bored enough to try. Then again, they did have Uno cards and Guess Who?, so there were those, too.

Most of the games were in their trunks, though.

Heather had plenty of paper, so they could play Hangman if worst came to worst.

**-XXX-**

Truthfully Heather hadn't noticed the noise of people arriving, engrossed as she was in her book.

It wasn't until Harry came back from the loo and mentioned something about the crowd and the train having somehow doubled in size. He'd noticed because there were long, curved windows between cars and when they'd boarded their car had been about even with the firehouse-looking shed the train had emerged from. Harry informed her that he'd counted nine cars between their new position and the shed.

"I didn't even notice us moving." Heather admitted, setting her book aside and looking out the window.

There was just some grass and then a treeline, with a neat line of gravel beside the tracks that extended out just far enough to be even with the outer edge of the outside of the car.

So, she felt a little better about being oblivious. But still a tad chagrined and unsettled.

' _Some situational awareness, girl!_ ' She chastised herself embarrassedly.

"It's really loud if you're out in the hallway." Harry said with a shrug as he flopped back down beside her. "I think there's some silencing magic worked into the doors and windows of the compartments, because if you crank open one of the hallway windows it sounds like Tesco on a Sunday after Church lets out."

Heather grimaced.

There was a _reason_ she always tried to do her shopping on Tuesdays or Thursdays!

Soon enough the train starting moving.

_That_ , at least, Heather noticed.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Ron Weasley wasn't having a good day.

The twins and Percy had been trying to out-do each other all morning, Ginny had been hogging all of mum's attention even though it was _Ron's_ special day, and then mum had given his favorite bacon butty sandwiches to one of the twins on accident- leaving him with one of their disgusting corned beef ones- and they wouldn't trade them back!

Then, of course, they'd arrived barely in time to catch the Express, which meant that they had arrived _after_ the train stopped adding new cars! Everyone _knew_ the Express stopped adding new cars at precisely five 'til eleven, and now he had to try to find a compartment that would be willing to let him join them!

He'd already been rejected three times, and each time made him feel just a little bit more sour. At this rate he'd have to hide in the luggage car like a garden gnome in the Weasley garden and hoped no one realized it and then told everyone how pathetic he was before Hogwarts even started!

If that happened he'd probably die of embarrassment and he'd have to go home and hide with mum and Ginny and be the only Weasley to ever not attend Hogwarts in the last hundred years!

Coming up on the last compartment with people- he could see the luggage car looming at the end like a Boggart- he passed by the first set quickly, noting that they were obviously upperclassmen. The last one on the left held a bunch of giggling girls- ew!- and the one on the right had just two people in it.

Ron tightened his hold on his battered trunk and gulped nervously. The two inside had expensive-looking clothes on, but they seemed to be about his age so maybe they'd let him stay?

True, his trousers were from Percy- which had first been Charlie's- this year, so they didn't fit as well as Bill or the twins' hand-me-downs usually did. Meaning that they were tight as the waist and rolled up at the hems. Mum's sewing charms were pretty good, but she didn't cut them- that way they could use them longer; cutting them made the charms fail faster- so they bulged and slipped down at the seams every once in a while. The charms fixed the hem or the waist eventually, but it took a while sometimes because the enchantments woven into the fabric were strained.

At least, that's what mum had always told him when he'd asked why his summer trousers couldn't just be cut off at the knee instead of hemmed.

And he was wearing Bill's hand-me-down robes; they were the old style with the top and the robe all being the same piece. The charms were failing, so they were itchy, but his undershirt helped with that. A little. He couldn't even _remember_ where _Bill_ had gotten them, but they'd been out of style when his eldest brother had worn them, so they were probably about a hundred years old by now!

Ron dithered in front of the door nervously, his courage slipping through his fingers with each passing moment.

The luggage car couldn't be _that_ bad, could it? It'd be a lot like playing hide-and-seek in the orchard and he was rather good at that game, if he did say so himself, and so, really, it would be fine and he could just wait until-

The door opened suddenly, causing Ron's eyes to widen and his grip to tighten nearly painfully on the handle of his trunk. "Can I sit here? Everywhere else is full!" He said in a rush, the words tumbling all over themselves and- oh! This was terrible! They were going to think he was such a loser- an extra no one wanted, he thought somewhat bitterly.

"Sure!" The boy who opened the door replied cheerfully, opening the door a bit wider and moving out of the way. "Don't mind Heather-feather over there." He continued, pointing over his shoulder at the girl that had her nose buried in a book. "I've got to let her read for at least another hour or she'll get grumpy."

"Hey! I resemble that remark, brother dear!" The girl replied, her words muffled by book she didn't bother to look away from.

Ron nearly sagged in relief. " _Sisters_." He said with feeling as he stepped inside. "There's no winning with them most of the time."

"Too true, my friend! Too true." The boy chirped cheerfully, helping Ron settle his trunk on the rack and then sitting back down beside the girl. "I'm Harry and that's Heather! First Years, of course."

"I'm Ron. Ron Weasley." Ron replied taking a seat on the empty bench. "Wait a second!" He suddenly blurted, his eyes going wide. "Are you Harry Potter?"

There was a barking sound and Ron looked away from the boy- Harry!- and down.

"What is that?" Ron asked with alarm. "It looks like a crup, but it still has a tail! That's illegal!"

Had he gotten into a compartment with _criminals_?!

The girl huffed a laugh and peered at him over the top of his book. "Mallie is a dog. A Golden Retriever, actually. She doesn't like raised voices, that's why she barked. Aunt Cassie sent Mallie's papers to the Deputy Headmistress and received permission for us to bring her. Mallie's really sweet, actually; you can pet her. Watch out for Chromie, though. She's my cat and she doesn't like strange people touching her. Chromie is a regular cat, too. Have no idea on the tail thing, but Mallie's tail is fine the way it is."

Then she went back to reading.

"Definitely watch out for the tiny dictator though." The boy- Harry- scowled down at aforementioned cat severely.

The cat flicked her tail at him and went back to napping with the dog.

"Brilliant." Was Ron's response as reached out to pet the dog.

"Let me show you the proper way to approach a dog." Harry said quickly, hopping up and walking over.

The other boy grabbed Ron's frozen outstretched arm and turned it over, so his palm was facing upwards.

"You gotta let a dog smell you first, see?" Harry told him as the dog pushed her wet nose into Ron's palm, sniffing him a bit before licking him and laying her head back down on the carpet.

Ron laughed. "It tickles!"

"Yeah." Harry agreed with a wide grin. "She approves. Now you can pet her. She really likes scratches behind her ears."

Ron tentatively ran his fingers through the fur on the dog's head.

"It's so soft!" He exclaimed quietly, digging his nails lightly into the fur behind the dog's ears.

The dog tilted her head and seemed ridiculously pleased.

Harry laughed and slid down to sit on the floor, so Ron did too. Soon enough they were talking about animals and quidditch and how sisters were the worst but still kind of the best and what House they thought they'd be in and what they were looking forward to the most or the least.

And with that Ron decided that even if this was Harry Potter, he was pretty normal and alright.

As a bonus, Ron discovered that he _really_ liked dogs. _Way_ better than he'd ever liked Great-Aunt Muriel's crups!

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather only kept half an ear on the conversation, amused and a little nostalgic at the easy camaraderie blooming between Ron and Harry.

Ron was a cute kid. He had a bit of dirt on his nose and worn looking clothes, sure, but his hair was a brilliant red and his blue eyes were really clear.

Arthur and Molly Weasley made really cute babies. No wonder they'd had so many!

She was less interested in the contents of their chatter, so she turned back to her book.

**-XXX-**

Heather startled slightly when Harry waved a hand in front of her face. "What'd I miss?" She asked, tearing her gaze away from the words.

Harry pointed towards the compartment door. "Trolley lady wants to know if we want anything. Ron got some Chocolate Frogs."

"I'm good, thanks." Heather smiled and waved at the lady who responded in kind.

"Then we're all set!" Harry told the lady chirpily. "Thanks!"

"A pleasure dears." The trolley lady said, closing the door and moving on.

"You know something I don't." Harry declared, crossing his arms and glaring at her suspiciously on the door had slid shut. "Spill."

Heather blinked at him innocently.

He arched an eyebrow challengingly. He was well aware of Heather's sweets obsession.

Heather pouted. "I might-" She drawled teasingly. "- _might_ , mind you, have convinced Kippers to try her hand at Nana's strawberry cheesecake-" She waited for Harry to light up a little before she added slyly. "-and nilla pie."

"Really?" Harry nearly squeaked, bouncing up onto his toes. "Like made from those thingies that Nana's cousin used to send for Easter and Christmas?"

"The very same." Heather replied with a wide smile. "It took Kippers nearly a week to get some of the ingredients so that's why we didn't have them the other night."

"Nilla pie?" Ron asked, curiously. "What's that?"

"It's heaven on a spoon." Harry declared dreamily, turning hopeful eyes to Heather. "Lunch?" He asked optimistically.

Heather laughed at him. "They're a types pudding, Ron." She explained to the young Weasley. "And no, not quite yet, Har-bear." She informed her brother, digging out her watch and noting that it was only three or so.

Harry wilted dramatically.

"You'll live for another hour or so." Heather drawled dryly, returning her watched to its pocket. "The Express doesn't reach Hogsmeade until almost nine in the evening and then we have to get to the Castle and Sorted. If we wait another hour or so then we'll not be positively starved by the time the Welcoming Feast commences."

"Fine." Harry acknowledged with a disappointed frown, slumping slightly. "But you have to play a game with us."

"Games?" Ron put in curiously, perking up a little. "There's Exploding Snap and Gobstones. But the twins have our deck and my mum made me leave the Gobstones stuff home for Ginny, since she'll be all alone this year. I have a wizarding chess set, but it's buried in my trunk."

"Cool!" Harry enthused brightly. "Our games don't explode or anything, but they're still pretty fun."

**-XXX-**

Ron was surprisingly competitive at Monopoly.

They'd played a few games of Clue, but Ron had been excited at the prospect of playing a game with money, so they'd switched to Monopoly.

Harry had 'sold out' to Ron early on in the game and now they were cheerfully partnering in an attempt to break Heather's grip on the board. She owned a good chunk of the 'go' portion of the board, most of the railroads, and was having extreme luck with the Chance and Community Chest cards, despite both boys shuffling them twice.

_Each_.

"Mwahahahahaha!" She gleefully cackled after she had been boosted around the board and granted another two hundred sweet, sweet pounds.

They had eaten the delicious food packed by the Black elves- Heather had made sure to insist it was only good manners to share, and Ron had caved fairly delightedly- and they all agreed that puddings were the _best_.

At some point- once they'd begged enough food off of everyone- the animals had shifted up on top of the bench Heather had been using, but was now functioning as her backrest.

Ron had just acquired the railroad Heather _didn't_ have and was celebrating when the door opened.

She had been contemplating chucking the dice at him, too.

It was a time-honored tradition of losing siblings everywhere!

"I heard Harry Potter was on this train. Is that you, then?"

' _Oh, wow_.' Heather thought, valiantly trying to repress her desire to burst out laughing as she glanced up at the blond boy standing in the doorway, flanked by two Dudley-esque looking, taller brats. Draco was sort of comical looking, with babyish features and an expression that was more closely related to constipation than a sneer. He was sort of cute in a pointy-nose-and-chin sort of way, she supposed. The two bodyguards were mostly confused looking, as opposed to intimidating, really. Boys with more meat than muscle and sort of thug-ish features.

That might have been Heather's age talking, though. Or her quiet dislike of Vernon Dursley lookalikes.

Harry didn't answer right away, likely trying to repress his own desire to laugh.

Heather empathized with his struggle.

"And who are _you_?" The blond boy continued condescendingly, looking from the statue-silent Ron to Heather. He gave her an obviously imitated up-and-down, haughtily judging look. "Red hair, old clothes, playing with muggle rubbish." He gave the game and the animals a disgusted glare before turning back to Heather. "You must be the Weaslette. Did you sneak on the train, trying to get in an extra year to find a decent husband? You are a seventh child, though. So perhaps one of the desperate Seventh Years might consider contracting you as their Mistress. You'd have to leave Hogwarts at thirteen, of course, but it would be an upgrade from what you're no doubt used to. Think of the headlines. Your father might even lose his job for your little stunt, pathetic as it is."

As far as insults went, the speech scored poorly. And slightly confusing and circular, too.

"Actually." She drawled before Harry could do more than glare. "I am Heiress Potter. Harry's older sister by a handful of minutes." She tilted her head to the side, looking him over carefully. "Based on Aunt Cassie's description, you must be Cousin Narcissa's boy." Heather didn't move from her seated position on the floor, giving the reddening boy her own cool, assessing stare. "Pity. Aunt Cassie spoke highly of Cousin Narcissa, I expected better of her son."

"Don't disrespect my mother like that half-blood!" Malfoy yelled, his fists clenching at his sides and his shadows trying to loom in the background.

"Yeah, well, don't talk to my sister like that you great bloody prat!" Harry retorted heatedly, leaping to his feet and causing Mallie and Chromie to melt off the seat and wander over beside him. "And more to the point, Ron's awesome. Even if that was his sister instead of mine, I'd still be ready to punch you in the face. The _hell_ is wrong with you? Talking about someone's sister like that?!"

"Hmph." Draco snorted, his ears and neck flushing bright red along with his face. "You'll find that some families are better than others." He glanced between Harry and Heather and Heather could almost see the tiny hamsters inside Draco's mind floundering.

To court favor with the Heiress or Harry Potter?

Harry predictably didn't wait for Draco to finish his grand speech.

"Yeah. Like families who teach their kids to respect other people, regardless of their blood status or gender." Harry spat out fiercely, causing Draco to take a step back as Harry stepped forward. "Now _get out_." Draco opened his mouth to say something but Harry took another step forward. "You insulted my sister, jackass. _Shove. Off_." Then Harry reached out and shut the door in the blond's face.

"My father will hear of this!" Could be heard through the door, the words high pitched and fuming.

The door knobs rattled, but Harry held them tightly.

"Yeah?" Harry called back just as angrily. "So will Aunt Cassie! Your point?"

There were some more mutterings and then the shadows on the other side of the glass quickly left.

"Wicked." Ron breathed after the shadows had left and Harry had plopped down beside him, Mallie crawling into his lap.

Chromie sauntered over and decided that Heather's sock covered foot made an excellent pillow.

Heather had taken off her shoes to sit on the floor. She wasn't worried about her skirt because, well, _magic_. Her shoes however, she didn't want to damage or get caught on skirt, so they were set neatly beside her bag.

The boys spent some time discussing how terrible Draco was, as they resumed the game. Heather was tempted to censure Ron's exuberant extolling of the dangers and inherent evilness of the Malfoy family, but Harry was a smart boy and people were entitled to their personal opinions.

And, extra mental discipline or not, Draco had been rather annoying and rude. He had time to grow and learn, but Heather certainly wasn't going to defend his current behavior.

She would, however, gleefully use her luck to extort more money out of the boys.

**-XXX-**

The boys had finally thrown in the towel and begged for a new game, so they were playing with the Uno cards. Ron kept messing up and bungling the rules, but it was actually pretty hilarious, so they were all having a good time.

Then the door opened again.

"Have any of you seen a to-is that a dog? I didn't know we could bring a dog!" Brown eyes blinked slowly before they alighted on the snoozing Chromie. " _Kitty_! May I pet her?"

Heather nodded agreeably. "Yeah, just be careful. She's not always nice to strangers."

Little Hermione was _adorable_.

There had been a huge fuss, Heather remembered, around the 'Cursed Child' actress having dark skin whereas the movie version of the book's actress had been lily white.

Well, Hermione did have a touch of color. Beige, if Heather was pressed to describe it; tanner than she or Harry's base skin color by several shades, with warm undertones that highlighted the varying shades of hazel in her eyes. Her hair was curly in that wild way that natural curls without anti-frizz products tended to be, and her front teeth were a bit prominent, but not overly so.

Heather was going to guess that Hermione had always attended a school with universal uniform, because the starched button up shirt, plain tie, and plaid skirt seemed comfortable. As did the knee high socks and sturdy mary jane shoes.

Chromie eyed the newcomer warily, but stayed seated on Heather's lap while Hermione hesitantly ran curious fingers over her fur.

Then came the expected torrent of words, once Harry had introduced himself, and Heather could understand how book-Harry had been intimidated by train-Hermione.

She was _intense_.

Well, she was nervous and excited and trying to blurt out words until she stumbled across the magical mess of words that might find her a friend. She was also trying to appear knowledgeable; trying to prove that she deserved to be here. Heather could see Hermione's panic mounting as her mouth continued to move and Heather felt nothing but empathy for the poor girl, despite her brother's dumbstruck expression and Ron's relatively mulish one.

"Hermione, right?" Heather broke in when the girl finally took a breath.

"Yes?" Hermione squeaked.

"It's nice to meet you." Heather said with a smile. "I'm Heather Potter, the blonde menace in my lap is Chromie. Yes, my brother is the Harry Potter, I'm afraid all the adventure books are fictional, and the only thing we've done for the past ten years is the same as you- going to Primary. We grew up on the other side, too."

Hermione looked crestfallen. "But all the books, like the _Rise and Fall of the Darks Arts_ -"

"-are mostly supposition and rather thin on concrete fact." Heather corrected gently. "The magical side has very different rules on publishing and such."

"If you say so." Hermione looked upset and then she tried to cover it up by looking superior. "Well, I've memorized all of our course books and I intend on being the best." The girl hopped to her feet and bounced back over to the open door. "You should put on your robes. I've just been up to speak with the conductor, we'll be there soon." She gave Ron an unimpressed look. "You have dirt on your nose, by the way."

Then she was gone.

"Whatever House she's in." Ron declared with feeling after the door had closed behind Hermione. "I hope I'm not in it."

Heather tried not to laugh _. 'Famous last words.'_

"She's just nervous." Heather told him with a laugh. "She'll calm down."

"If you say so, Heather-feather." Harry said somewhat skeptically.

**-XXX-**

Hogsmeade was charming and old-fashioned. The houses Heather could see out the windows, illuminated by the moonlight and lanterns, had sloped, thatched roofs, brick walls, and thick panes of glass. The station was also old fashioned, with its charmingly antique signage and design.

A cool, automated voice instructed them to leave their luggage and pets and disembark, so Heather coaxed Chromie back into her cage and Mallie laid down next to it to wait.

The animals had both been fed and watered twice, and they had been taken into the luggage car to do their business on the papers the elves had packed for them, which Heather then put into the rubbish bins. Probably a bit unconventional, but she wasn't going to risk poor Mallie holding it for too long and having an accident or getting hurt. Chromie either!

Heather was thankful that they had lagged behind a bit, putting away the Uno cards, pulling on their robes- including their pointy hats which were rather ridiculous- and settling the animals, because they barely made it to the middle of the train before they ran into a backlog of living bodies.

Like any true introvert confronted with a rowdy crowd, Heather hid behind Harry. Ron was given a fond smile when he absently drifted nearer, blocking her view of the crowd and them from her.

Turned out the debarking point _was_ the middle of the train, which certainly explained the mass backlog.

Like she'd seen from the windows, the platform was made of stone, with a wooden overhead, and the station itself was brick. There were benches scattered along the side and Heather wondered if this was all for Hogwarts or if there had been some sort of short-lived rail system.

Portkeys, Apparition, and the Floo were all well and good, but the idea for the Bus had to come from somewhere, right? Did it replace an old train system or something?

At any rate, the sun had set, and there was plenty of cloud cover, suggesting rain.

Then Harry nudged her and she tore her gaze away from the station and followed his insistent tugging. They went left, acr4oss the length of the station and then down a stone-dirt path surrounded by trees.

Hagrid was _huge_.

Like, Andre the Giant huge.

But his eyes really were kind and he seemed even more excited than the First Years themselves. He had a leather-like coat on, a lantern in one huge hand and his pink umbrella hooked on the same arm.

He reminded Heather rather strongly of Radagast.

"He seems brilliant." Harry whispered to her and she grinned at him.

Hagrid tapped a few trees with his umbrella along the way- suggesting to Heather that the path was protected from the average person- and after ten minutes or so of silently waddling after Hagrid like ducklings, they finally came to a stop.

"No mor' than four to a boat!" Hagrid bellowed as he hefted his lantern higher, and the group slowly rounded that last group of trees to see a neat line of bobbing rowboats along the shallow shores of a lake.

It couldn't be a river, Heather's mind stupidly informed her, as there was no obviously current, suggesting a stationary body of water. There might be tributaries or such further away, but it was most likely a lake.

The Black Lake.

The most anxious of the First Years ran to claim their little rowboats. One boat overturned, leaving the former occupants spluttering in the hip-level waters.

Harry, Heather, and Ron made their way to an empty boat and Heather forced the boys to go first. Once they had managed to get it and were seated across from each other, Heather gingerly stepped inside and nervously sat down beside Harry.

It wasn't that she didn't like water. She just didn't like unknown waters, at night, with a rowboat that looked to have been hand-hewn sometime in 1537.

There must have been an odd number of students, because they didn't get a fourth member to their little boat before Hagrid- in what looked to be a hollowed out tree trunk- hollered " _Forward_!" and the boats began gliding silently through the calm waters.

' _This is it_.' Heather thought with a grin. ' _We're actually here!'_

With the moon currently behind the clouds and Hagrid's lantern pretty far away it was fairly difficult to see. She'd grabbed Harry's hand at some point- she should really stop doing that- and it was quiet for what felt like several minutes before they sailed around a stone ledge and were confronted with an overhanging tree, trailing ivy vines nearly to the water.

Hagrid hollered for them to suck, but Heather just reached her free hand out to touch the ivy.

Well, until Harry yanked her down, via their linked hands.

The ivy was more of a hallway than a simple curtain, but once they were beyond it they could see Hogwarts Castle.

"It's amazing." Heather whispered as she looked at the monolith of stone. The windows held lanterns- candles flickering inside a bag; like those ones from the Tangled movie- in what seemed to be each and every window opening.

"Brilliant." Harry whispered back to her, and she could nearly feel his grin even if she couldn't see it.

Heather closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She could see why book-Harry had loved this castle so much. It definitely gave off a feeling of security and warmth and _magic_.

As silly as that sounded.

Suddenly, Heather stiffened, her magic easily answering her involuntary call.

"'feather?" Harry whispered as he felt his sister's hand grip his own tightly.

"It's ok." Heather whispered back, a bit chagrined.

Hopefully the Ministry wizard who tried to hit them with what she assumed were the Ministry monitoring charms wouldn't get in too much trouble for not tagging the twins. She'd felt the magic head towards her and she'd just _reacted_ , willing her own magic to reject the foreign intrusion. And it had, though she wondered how much of that counter-attack had been her and how much had been the Blood Wards acting on her resolve.

Then they were gliding into a protected dock area.

The books and movies had _not_ prepared her for the amount of stone stairs involved in the next leg of their journey. Heather grumbled uncharitably under her breath while Harry and Ron tried to not laugh.

"Is she always like this?" Ron whispered, slightly breathless from laughter and stair climbing, to an equally winded Harry.

"When she has to walk up stairs for reasons she deems 'stupid', yeah." Harry cheerfully informed his new friend. "You should have heard her when our tennis coach made us run laps."

Before Heather could snap something witty back at her brother, Hagrid was knocking on a wide, engraved, stone door and who could only be Professor McGonagall opened it.

"The Fir' years, Perfessor." Hagrid informed her gruffly, turning to wave at them and disappearing off back towards the boats.

Professor McGonagall embodied the idea of a stern lady of old. Floor length dark dress with delicate lace edging and a throat-brooch-thing, with thin spectacles perched on her perfectly proportionate nose.

She led them inside and along a hallway that was lined with suits of armor, the candles in the windows lighting their way.

The décor reminded Heather a lot of a museum, actually.

There were some moving paintings, too, which was pretty neat. After Blackmoor Hall, though, that initial bust of fascination with moving, talking paintings had faded somewhat.

She _definitely_ understood why Grandfather kept most of the family paintings in stasis or in the Vaults, though.

Having seventy-eight different opinions aggressively shouted at you every time you stepped out into the hallway was vexing.

And it wasn't cruel! Placing them in the Vaults, that is. They could move to other frames or 'sleep' until they were purposely unfrozen!

Heather only paid a token amount of attention to Professor McGonagall's opening speech- Houses, House points, your House is your family blahblahblah- though she had the good manners and self-preservation to pretend to follow along.

Once the professor had disappeared off through the door- and let in a blast of loud chatter; Heather needed to learn some silencing spells, stat- everyone began to whisper among themselves.

Heather, honestly, tuned most of it out. She'd pulled Ron and Harry back a bit so when Draco went to look for Harry or her to start talking smack; they merely stayed in the shadows. It was an awkward moment, and Heather was afraid her restraining the boys was going to be for naught, but then the ghosts came floating through the walls and they were saved.

_Phew_.

The ghosts were strange. Sort of a buzzing energy contained in a luminescent form.

They reminded her a lot of those space-age holographic projections, honestly.

Then the professor was back and shooing the ghosts away and they were walked inside the Great Hall. Single file, so Heather had let go of Harry's hand and discreetly held on to his outer robes.

The Great Hall was….breathtaking.

The ceiling really did look like the night sky, making it seem as if they were eating in an outdoor garden of some sort. The staggered, floating candelabra were burning actual candles but the wax bits that occasionally fell disappeared after just a second. The Hall did have oil lamps lining the walls, about every meter or so- she still tended to think in standard terms sometimes, but she tried to use metric- not to mention several tiered, stunningly crafted chandeliers overhead.

There was a raised dais with a table running longwise at the far end of the Hall, where the staff were all gathered.

They were led up a center aisle, between two of the house tables. The long, sturdy looking wooden tables each had a banner running along their length in the middle, with little 'centerpiece' placements of large candelabra and cute, animated little House mascot decorations every three feet or so.

There she went with standard measurements again.

Given the colors, it looked to be Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and then Slytherin.

They were also full of bodies. Uniform pointy hats and black over robes and all! The majority of them were also blatantly staring at the First Years as they moved along the length of the Hall, which was disconcerting and distracting.

Ah. _There_ was Heather's internal anxiety sonata. Like an old friend coming back to visit.

Honestly she was _so tired_ of her brain twisting itself into knots over the matter of House placement she could scream. She was also tired, hungry, and more than a bit cranky that it was nearly ten and she didn't know where she'd be sleeping.

Heather made a mental note to plan a few emergency contingencies in the future. Like escape routes or safe places in the castle to retreat to. Having no 'plan b' or 'plan c' made her feel off balance and super grouchy.

Thankfully, they reached the end of the Hall and Professor McGonagall broke out the small wooden stool and the battered and frayed Sorting Hat.

The song was _terrible_ , though the Hat seemed to be absurdly pleased with itself and tended to bounce from side to side, making its mouth-tear tilt rather hilariously.

Eventually it was over, everyone applauded, and Heather wondered if they could just be _done_ already. Because she _hated_ being the center of attention, like a monkey in a zoo, and the stares were beginning to get to her.

The Sorting commenced. Professor McGonagall began reading off names- some familiar and some not at all- and the Hat would settle over their heads for a bit before it shouted out a House name; leaving the newly sorted student to scurry off to the corresponding table, usually to welcoming applause.

Ever so slowly the line thinned.

' _If we move any slower the Vikings are going to pop out of the walls and start swinging axes around.'_ Heather thought rather sourly as she slowly shuffled forward. _'Hm. Well, I'd make a somewhat decent Viking, I suppose. They made their women do the household calculations 'cause they thought it was witchcraft. Or so I read somewhere.'_

Heather amused herself with the thought of being a craggy old spinster that lived in a hut near the sea who traded her math skills for cows and sheep. For a while, at least. Ron and Harry whispered back and forth to each other in front of her.

"Potter, Harry."

There was a fresh wave of mutterings. There had been whispers before, idle chatter with the occasional laugh or snort, but these were pointed whispers, directed at her brother.

Harry tossed her a grin over his shoulder and walked up to the stool. They locked eyes for a long moment when he turned around and sat down, but then Professor McGonagall dropped the hat on his head and it covered him all the way to his chin.

Time seemed to stretch on forever to Heather.

The whispers grew louder, moving into full chatter, and just when Heather's heart thought it was going to give out on her the Hat opened its brim-

" _ **GRYFFINDOR**_!"

Harry lifted the Hat off of him with a wide grin and gave her a wave before he rushed over to the red table.

"Potter, Heather." McGonagall called after the hubbub had calmed down.

Heather straightened her shoulders and strode towards the stool with a confidence she most emphatically did not feel.

" _The traitor's Goddaughter?"_

" _I heard they were twins?"_

" _I heard she stole her cousin's birthright!"_

" _Really? I heard that they're really close! Uncle Gerard is an Auror and he said that Harry Potter was sixteen shades of brassed off about her getting hurt at the Potter offices a fortnight ago-""_

" _Mother said that her friend told her the girl is James Potter's illegitimate love child!"_

" _She's got red hair though! I can't see her eyes, but that hair is really bright!"_

" _She's not very pretty, is she? Cousin Tilly told me that Lord Potter and his wife were an attractive couple, she can't be their child! Look at how plain she is!"_

" _She's eleven, Kenna!"_

Heather spun on her heel and sat as gracefully as she could, giving the room her best bored glare.

' _Oh, my.'_ A voice whispered inside her ear. _'Aren't you the complicated one.'_

'… _.that's really disturbing.'_ Heather thought grudgingly.

' _A bit.'_ The voice of the Hat returned cheerfully. ' _Now, where to put you Heiress Potter? Or should I say Heiress Black?'_

Heather's fears and worst-case-scenarios suddenly slammed into her with all the force of a freight train and she could feel her grip on the stool tighten painfully.

' _Not to fret, young Lady.'_ The voice of the Hat soothed. _'I haven't spilled the secrets of a student in the past nine hundred and seventy six Sortings and I'm not about to break my record now! And you are hardly the first special circumstance I've ever Sorted, dear. Fraught times, and all that.'_

' _Thank you.'_ Heather managed to think.

' _Now where to put you?'_ The voice of the Hat mused idly. _'Slytherin won't do at all, though you certainly could teach the latest generation a thing or two. Purely petty ambition is wasted ambition. I see you plan on setting me on fire should I place you in Ravenclaw, and some of those theories are quite interesting, so that one's out too.'_

Heather felt like she should be sorry, but she wasn't.

' _However, you are certainly loyal enough for Hufflepuff. Willing to work hard if the situation calls for it.'_ The voice contemplated seriously, and Heather could just picture the Hat rubbing its chin.

You know, if it had one.

' _I used to have a pipe!'_ The Hat informed her happily. _'But some Headmaster destroyed it when I was off for my yearly cleaning about six hundred and seventy Sortings ago. Give or take a few. Alas. Hm. I have to say my dear, you could thrive wherever, but I must place you in a single House and so I shall. Bravery, dear girl, is not always preventing a killing blow. Sometimes, bravery is as simple as finding the strength to move forward, if only for the ones we love.'_ The Hat's words were strangely warm inside her mind.

' _Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow.'_ * Heather quoted rather numbly.

She wasn't brave!

Well, she wasn't a political mastermind, hard-working, or particularly smart, either.

' _A most excellent adage!'_ The hat informed her genially, shifting about a little on her head. ' _And you, dear student, chose to keep your heart, when it would have been easier to discard it. You are far braver than you give yourself credit for. Ah! That's it! Better be-'_

" _ **GRYFFINDOR**_!" The Hat bellowed out loud.

Heather lifted the Hat and handed it to Professor McGonagall, making her way towards her brother out of force of habit.

Then she realized that her brother was one of the only ones clapping. Most everyone else was still too busy whispering or staring at her like a bug under a microscope.

As she was about halfway to the table, Percy Weasley stood and firmly and pointedly began to applaud. Shortly thereafter most of the other Gryffindors followed suit.

She summoned up her best smile and came to a stop in front of her brother. "Hey." She said thickly, trying her best not to cry but public humiliation had always been a weakness.

Her kryptonite.

She feared it and tried to avoid it as much as possible, because there was nothing worse than having a group of people randomly decide that you were unworthy. It messed with her head and her equilibrium and it made her brain try to eat itself as she struggled between being proud of who she was and being upset at the familiar sting of rejection.

Harry reached forward and wrapped her in a hug. "I'm glad we're together, big sister." He said, loudly and pointedly before they both sat down and the Sorting resumed.

Heather smiled gratefully at Percy, who puffed up a bit and beamed back at her.

She and Harry politely clapped and whispered to one another for the rest of the Sorting. When Ron was Sorted she scooted over and let him sit between them with a smile, since Harry's other side had been taken by a recently Sorted girl and her upperclassmen sister.

Eventually the Sorting was over, the stool and Hat whisked away, and the Headmaster opened the Feast.

Heather couldn't even bring herself to laugh at the Headmaster's humor, nor the dazzling sight of the tables being suddenly overloaded with scrumptious looking foods.

She just kept her face as blank as possible, desperately trying to keep from bursting into tears.

Stupid head. Unable to let go of all the little glances and side-whispers, despite being in a castle full of magic.

She filled her plate with whatever was nearby- even if it didn't look appetizing- and ate mechanically, quietly listening to the stories of the others. She absently heard Neville describe child endangerment and Seamus talk about his mother springing magic on his dad late in life.

Her mind was stuck on being rather uncharitable and sarcastic despite her attempts to make herself a bit more cheerful.

' _Brave my ass.'_ She thought as the excruciatingly long dinner was finally cleared away and the Headmaster stood and made his announcements. _'I'm an anxiety-ridden coward. That stupid hat is senile.'_

She really just wanted to curl up on Gramps' lap and cry it out.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Mary Anne Radmacher. Thanks to the lovely Madrigal-in-Training for suggesting this awesome quote!


	10. Solidarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally forgot a huge chunk (chapters 27 and 28 on ffnet) of this! 
> 
> Thanks to northpeach and Saj_te_Gyuhyall for telling me!
> 
> Also, sorry to Witch_of_Perception and FatesShadow83 for the confusion!
> 
> Sorry, sorry, sorry!!

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Minerva McGonagall kept half an eye on her lions as she contemplated the rooming assignments.

Well, the girls.  As the boys only had a full dorm’s worth at all.

While this year’s class was fairly small- only thirty six new students- it was still far too large for her to consider not utilizing the Assistant Professors for the year.  Especially as they were already in the castle and teaching other Years’ worth of classes anyways.

Assistant Professors were graduate students who needed teaching credit or Mastery credit, or both, and taught the ‘alternate’ class. 

Alternate classes took place in the next room over from the ‘main’ class, taught by a Head of House, during the same time period, but the students were considered ‘ancillary’ to the ‘core’ class students.

Truthfully, most ‘ancillary’ students had unstable or malformed cores and-correspondingly- had difficulties wielding a wand.   They usually required a bit more attention and time than the average student.  Not to say that they weren’t worth educating, just perhaps not quite worth the investment of a Master’s time in the same manner as the ‘core’ students, who were able to better benefit from such instruction.  The ancillary students tended to slow down class progress and were prime targets for harassment as a result. 

Well, except Hufflepuff. 

Hufflepuff had always shunned the practice, since its implementation in the fifteenth century.  Like her forerunners, Pomona utilized her Assistant Professor while she taught her classes herself and sent along another Assistant to help keep order in other classrooms.  The Hufflepuff Head of House had always taken a pay cut in order to maintain two Assistants, but each and every one of them had stoutly refused to split their students up, no matter the students’ core complications or wand difficulties.

Core classes such as Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions, and Herbology all had Assistant Professors to teach the First through Fifth Years. Afterwards the classes were small enough to no longer need the Assistant Professors.  History of Magic, Astronomy, and DADA were fully mixed.  Binns was a ghost, they could barely find a DADA Professor at all, and Aurora Sinistra resented the system passionately, as it had made her life doubly difficult as a student.

This year Severus had Roland Yaxley as his Assistant; ghastly beast that the young man was.  Minerva had been glad to see the back of him two years ago, only to have Severus hire the dreadful braggart as his Assistant and Apprentice. 

Filius had taken on young Fiona Shacklebolt as his Apprentice just a week ago.  Minerva had been concerned that he wouldn’t find an Assistant in time for term’s start!

Pomona’s two were Ella Macmillan and Craig Abbot; the former was her Herbology Apprentice while the latter was her long-time Assistant Professor.  And, Minerva suspected, Pomona’s likely replacement, when the time came.

Minerva herself had Barnaby Diggory as her Apprentice and Assistant, though she’d need to find a new one for next year, as he was nearly finished with his Mastery requirements.

Minerva sighed softly as she looked over her list of new Gryffindors.

It seemed like just a fortnight ago she had been arguing with Albus over his placement of the Potter twins at the Dursley house.  And she had never forgotten the way her heart had stopped when he had informed her that he didn’t expect little Heather to last the week; and even if the girl did, her core would likely be warped beyond the abilities of a wand to properly channel.

_“I’ve never seen such magical duress have a happy ending.”  He’d told her sadly.  “Obviously if she reaches twelve we can have a qualified Healer perform some diagnostic- as magic, as we measure her, can only be suitably quantified after the twelfth year; as you are no doubt well aware- but I fear that little Heather might not last the week, as fragile as she is.”_

Minerva had conceded that their aunt’s home was likely for the best then.  Give the poor girl a chance at a life without the whole world looking down on her.  Squibs- or those with impaired cores- were not treated kindly in their world.

Albus had spoken of Harry in various interviews and official capacities, but had left the boy’s sister out of the information. 

As a kindness! 

The poor girl might not have lasted that November!  And even if she’d had, she would likely never be able to defend herself against magical attacks, and thus would be in danger herself and a danger to young Harry.

Then both twins had gotten Letters.

Though, as wizard-born their Letter had been automatically sent out and Minerva had entirely forgotten about them needing an introduction.  Summers were always busy, with Albus needing to be away and Minerva herself being out of the castle on vacation while the wards recalibrated and the Letters sent out.  Muggleborn letters- or those without a magical guardian- were left in a pile on her desk for when she returned and she’d gotten so caught up in those routine visits and shopping trips- not to mention the summer Headmaster duties- she hadn’t thought to check on the Potters until July, and by then they had sent in their acceptance letters, so she had assumed Albus had dealt with it personally.

Or had already sent someone he trusted, knowing how busy she was at this time of year while he was gone to the ICW.

It wasn’t until the debacle with Sirius Black- and she was _still_ trying to process that mess- that she and Albus had realized that the Potter twins had been left entirely on their own!

Well, for once Minerva could do something for the poor girl.  The poor thing had spent the past fortnight with the likes of Arcturus and Cassiopeia Black- she looked exceptionally pale and listless over there at the Gryffindor table!- so Minerva would place her in the alternate classes.  No need for her to be put in the same class as Harry and constantly be unfavorably compared to him.

Oh!  He looked so like James!  Minerva hoped that Harry had his father’s talent for Transfiguration!

Not to mention all the whispers the poor girl was having to endure thanks to the conflicting stories being run in the _Prophet_!  Albus had told her that Lucius Malfoy was making a concentrated effort to undermine the twins- especially the girl.  Meanwhile, the Potter Counsel was fighting back, though they didn’t have the sway that Lord Malfoy did. 

Albus suspected that the whispering would die down once the girl settled in here at the school, but until the idea of the ‘golden Potter family’ having a ‘dirty little secret’ wore off the gossips were exceptionally reluctant to let the subject die, not matter the offered evidences.

As a teacher, Minerva was well aware of how outlandish and terrible rumors could get before the masses found something new to gossip about.

Minerva hesitated a bit longer, strangely uncertain about putting Heather Potter in the ‘special’ classes.  As if her intuition was warning her not to; that Heather would be just fine in the ‘regular’ classes.

‘ _Nonsense_.’  Minerva sniffed to herself as she neatly wrote the girl’s name on the ‘red’ dorm list, next to the name of that slip of a girl who likely wouldn’t last more than a year.  _‘I’m doing this to help the poor dear!’_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Eventually the school song- the words leapt from the end of the Headmaster’s wand in brilliant swirls of colored smoke- was over and they were following the Prefects out of the Hall.

The moving, mirrored main staircases were pretty awe-inspiring.  They had individual segments that disappeared off around opposite corners and from the Entrance Hall she could see up nearly four floors before the massive chandelier’s twinkling lights blocked her view.  The wrought iron guardrails were thankfully made of curled black iron instead of spikes.  There were scattered stone monuments of creatures Heather hadn’t a hope of identifying at first glance, as well as regularly posted sets of armor, and a nearly overwhelming amount of ornately framed, moving paintings along their path as they trekked upwards after the Prefects.

They were on the third segment of the left-hand staircase before Heather glanced back at the Great Hall entrance.  And the ornate hourglasses that held the House point gems were really quite impressive, even from such a distance.

Eh, she’d appreciate the view more after some sleep.

Harry was laughing and joking with Ron and a few others, and she occasionally smiled at him, but all she felt was hollow and exhausted.

**\---XXX---**

Ten flights of stairs- she was confused and wondered if she was having exhausted hallucinations- several long, portrait-strew hallways, and a lecture on password security later, Heather was even crankier.  As well as even more exhausted, and on the verge of throwing up what she’d managed to eat.

It just wasn’t settling well.  She should have stuck to lightly buttered rolls.

The portrait swinging open was rather neat, and she’d properly appreciate it later.  Especially the woman’s fluffy dress and mischievous nature.  The lady had seemed to be _thoroughly_ entertained while she messed with the Prefects and forced them all to listen to screechy opera notes.

The Gryffindor common room was actually at the end of a short hallway, and it was as red and gold as she’d imagined.  Wide and spacious, it looked to be roughly the size of their Primary school’s gymnasium.  There were some portraits strewn along the walls, a couple sets of intricate looking armor, two fireplaces- one much bigger than the other- a fair few couches and loveseats, and a couple of groups of desks closer to the back of the room. 

The lighting was a mix of wall lanterns and candelabras.  The fireplaces helped too.  And the massive- though unlit- chandelier.

‘ _Oh, yay_.’  Heather thought rather numbly.  _‘Another gorgeous chandelier.  How many dazzling chandeliers did one school need?’_

To be fair there were windows, but the stone coverings were currently closed.

_“We always close the windows for the first few days, so you firsties can learn the window rules.”  Percy’s Prefect partner said with a smirk.  “As a Third Year and above you can sit on the sills, but until then they’ll repel you!”_

The room did sort of curve- which made sense as it was a ‘tower’- so the resting areas were a bit removed from the desks and the bookshelves full of worn books on the very back wall.

Also, the relaxing area didn’t have as much light, which was nice.

On the rounded portion of the ‘tower’ there were opposite-facing doorways.

 “The left side if for the girls, the right is for the boys.”  Percy was saying officiously.  “If you need supplementary accommodations, see Professor McGonagall tomorrow, but your trunk will be in the dorm that corresponds to the pronoun used in your Letter.”

That was…..rather helpful.

“Girls come with me.”  The female prefect ordered tiredly.

Once they had passed inside the door and up a set of winding stairs, they came to a sort of landing area.

“Ok, listen up.  I’m tired and ready for bed and don’t want to repeat myself sixteen times.”  A newly arrived Prefect snapped irritably.  “There are four girls to a dorm.  We get lucky, the guys have five.  Your roommates were decided by Professor McGonagall at the Feast, so if you have a grievance, take it up with her tomorrow.”  She glanced down at her now unrolled list- Heather hadn’t even noticed her holding it.  “’Kay, so Granger, Patil, Brown, and Perks are in the Year One Gold dorm.  Potter and Roper, you’re in the Year One Red dorm.”

“The dorms are color coded- opposite sides of the hallway- and every year they shift up a level until you’re on the top floor in Seventh Year!”  One of the other Prefects stepped forward to explain.  “Each dorm has its own loo and you are responsible for putting your dirty clothes and rubbish in the bins, or they won’t be cleaned.  _No exceptions_.”

“This floor is called the Crimson Landing and is sort of the ‘ground level’.  It has study rooms and the tubs.”  The youngest Prefect- Percy’s counterpart- took up easily.  “There are signup sheets-“  She moved and pointed to two clipboards. “-but the Fifth Years and up are given priority, due to their exams.”

“Other than that, no boys- it will alarm the Prefects and the stairs will turn into a slide- and keep your rooms somewhat tidy.’  The original Prefect finished with a sigh of aggravation.  “The spells are fairly easy, so there’s no excuse for your floors to look like a disaster area.”  She pursed her lips unhappily.  “Now, this year the first was on a Sunday, so class starts tomorrow.  Breakfast opens at seven in the morning and runs until nine-thirty.  Tomorrow you get your schedules, so I suggest you get there early, as you’ll have to find your classrooms.  Questions?”

Heather raised her hand. 

“What, Potter?”  The way the girl spat her name was utterly annoying, and it made Heather angry simply because she was tired of being tired. 

“I usually wake my twin up.”  She said equally as shortly.  “Do the boys’ stairs turn into a slide as well?”

“You’re Harry Potter’s twin?!”  One of their number yelped, and the eldest Prefect merely raised an eyebrow challengingly.

Heaven help her, she was going to kill these people.  Or they were going to kill her.  “Yes.”  She ground out as evenly as she could, her hands clenching into fists under the cover of her over robe’s sleeves.  “I was born seven minutes before Harry.”  She glared at one of the loudest gossipers from dinner.  “To Lily Potter by way of James Potter, if you were wondering.”

“No need to get all defensive, Potter.”  The eldest Prefect told her dismissively and Heather only held her tongue because she wanted to find her dorm and sleep sometime in the next half hour.  “Dorms are at the end of the hallway here. Gold on the right, red on the left.  Go to bed firsties.”

Heather kept her pace as unhurried as possible as she made her way down the hall and into the indicated door.  There was a small landing area, with the staircase leading upwards and around, but the plaque on the door just off the landing said ‘Red dorm, First Year’ and that was good enough for Heather.

The inside of the dorm was more red and gold, but thankfully muted and not nearly as loud as the colors in the common room.  The ceiling was a nice maroon with gold molding, which Heather appreciated.  The two four-poster beds were on the same side of the room, their corresponding wardrobes and desks settled beside them, their trunks neatly laid stood on end at the foot of their beds.  There was a door at the end of the short room, which Heather assumed was the loo, and the wall was just a plain wall with open, arched windows.

Well, window openings that were somehow repelling the rain.

 _Magic_.

The lighting was wall sconces and Heather wondered how they were going to turn them off.

Ah, never mind.  She saw a Rune panel, like the ones at the office and Blackmoor Hall.

 _‘Nice of the Prefects to tell us.’_ Heather thought scathingly.

Heather sighed heavily and looked around for Chromie.  Heather’s trunk was at the end of the bed closest to the loo, so she looked around and under it for her crazy cat.

After some increasingly frustrated and upset searching, she found Chromie on the bed, still in her carrier.  Heather quickly let the kitty out and went to search for her supplies.

“Sorry.”  She absently said to her new roommate as she opened her trunk and dug around for Chromie’s shit.  “If I don’t set up her stuff she’ll whine like a little baby in the middle of the night.”

“I-it’s alright.”  Her roommate stuttered shyly and suddenly Heather felt terrible. 

Heather pulled herself out of her trunk- nearly tripping over the little blonde ninja cat lurking near her heels- and smiled at her roommate lopsidedly.  “Sorry.  This day’s been pretty long and….mildly unpleasant.”  Heather finished with a grimace. “But I’m Heather.  I like the color blue, reading, and trying to keep my ridiculous twin alive.  And in one piece.”  Heather smiled at the other girl tiredly.  “You?”

“I’m Sophie Roper.”  The girl said shyly.  “I like puzzles and helping the younger kids at the orph-home.”  She flushed and looked down at her feet, her brown hair covering her eyes and her posture hunched.

Now that she was looking, the girl seemed painfully shy, very thin, and sort of Hinata-ish.  Stringy brown hair, blue eyes, and ill-fitting clothes all wrapped up in an air of shyness and timidity.

Heather suddenly felt terrible.

“Helping others is always a fair sight better than tearing them down.”  Heather asserted firmly, digging back into her trunk for Chromie’s stuff- and an extra set of pjs.

Those rags looked supremely uncomfortable.

“We should have a slumber party!”  Heather continued, injecting as much cheer into her voice as possible despite her tiredness and emotional turmoil.  “When’s your birthday, Sophie?”

“U-uhm.  August twenty-sixth?”  Sophie answered, sounding rather bewildered.

“Awesome!”  Heather proclaimed as she exited and shut her trunk, tossing the clothing she’d grabbed onto her bed- she’d drawn back the hangings on the side facing Sophie- and began to set up Chromie’s things.  “By the sacred rules of sleepover etiquette that means we can use my bed!”

Heather finished setting things up- food and water near the door, catbox near the bathroom on her side- and turned around; hands on her hips and a grin on her face.

“Sophie?”  She inquired walking towards the other girl, but stopping at least an arms’ length away, not wanting to crowd the hunched over other girl.  “Are you okay?”  Heather ran over her words and waved her arms about helplessly.  “We don’t have to!  I totally respect your personal space and boundaries!  My brother and I usually sleep together-  Sophie?!  Oh dear- please don’t cry!”

“Yo-you’re the first girl my age that’s ever been nice to me.” Sophie sobbed out, her head somehow managing to hang even lower.  “But….I _know_ I smell!  Because the home doesn’t like to give out soap and I usually give mine to the younger ones.  And I still wet the bed and-“  She hiccupped lightly and curled in onto herself some more.

Heather’s inner big sister was instantly infuriated on Sophie’s behalf.

Heather marched over to her trunk and opened it and then walked back over to Sophie, out a firm but loose arm around her and marched the crying girl towards Heather’s trunk.

The girl _did_ actually smell.  Like urine and old vomit and dirty sweat, but Heather firmly quashed her instinct to recoil and marched the crying girl into the main compartment of her trunk.

“Here.”  Heather said, opening up several drawers and going back to stand by the still-sniffling Sophie.  “These are my spare toiletries.  You can pick whichever scent you like best.  And Aunt Cassie filled my trunk with outfits like the one I’m wearing- after I went clothes shopping- so you can borrow my clothes, too.”

“I can’t take your stuff!”  Sophie exclaimed, dismayed.  “It’s really nice of you-“

Heather firmly held up a hand and cut the other girl off before she took Sophie’s hands into her own and smiled warmly.  “Sophie.”  She said gently to the teary and ashamed girl.  “Harry and I grew up with our maternal aunt, and it was only luck that we met people who cared about us.  We know what it’s like to be the weird kids in class.  And I wouldn’t wish that humiliation and shame on anyone, let alone my new roommate.”  Heather freed up a hand and swiped a nearby handkerchief, gently dabbing Sophie’s face dry.  “On this side our parents were rather comfortable, so I’m not longer pence-pinching for soap and shower privileges.”  Heather smiled gently at the other girl.  “I’m doing this because I’ve been where you are and there were people who helped me, so now it’s my turn. Someday, it’ll be yours.”

“You-“  Sophie sniffled and took a few gulps of air.  “-you really mean that?”

“Honest and truly.”  Heather affirmed steadily, not looking away from Sophie’s judging stare.

Truthfully, Heather’s heart broke at whatever this girl had experienced to make her feel so unworthy of basic decency.

“O-ok.”  Sophie finally settled on after a few minutes of quiet and thought, giving Heather a tentative, sickly smile.

“Awesome!”  Heather chirped, wrapping an arm around Sophie’s waist and pulling her towards the drawers.  “So. This one is my favorite- because its _blue_ -“

**\---XXX---**

Heather woke an hour before her alarm.

To a wet spot on her bed.

 _‘She needs kindness and compassion Heather, no matter how tired and cranky you are.’_   She told herself as she turned over and smiled at the crying Sophie _.  ‘You did it for Harry, you can do it for Sophie.’_

**\---XXX---**

Thanks to their extra early morning, Sophie and Heather were out in the halls at six-thirty.

Heather was wearing a replica of yesterday’s outfit- only it was dark red with a gold stripe- and Sophie had been convinced into Heather’s pre-Aunt Cassie clothes.  The simple grey wool, knee length skirt was a little short- Sophie was a tad bit taller- and Heather’s white-button up with the blue undershirt were a little loose around the middle, but Heather’s spare sturdy, mary jane shoes fit well, even if the black knee-high socks were also a few inches shorter on Sophie than on Heather.

Heather had also loaned Sophie an extra over robe- the poor girl had only been able to scrape enough money together for one, as clothes in the wizarding world were expensive.

Understandable, considering how long they lasted and the intricate weave of the fabric, not to mention the enchantments and such.  But Sophie had had to choose between extra parchment and robes, and she’d decided to err on the side of caution.

What confused Heather was the little tidbit about the person who had introduced Sophie to magic: an Assistant Professor Yaxley.

_What the hell?_

Sophie had a mind for mazes, because they ended up in the Great Hall shortly before seven.  Food appeared at the Gryffindor table just as they crossed the threshold.

Heather wanted to wax poetic about the halls of Hogwarts, but portraits were really only along the ‘main’ hallways.  Sort of what designated a length of stone with doorways as a ‘main’ hallway, actually. And while the view out the windows was truly _amazing_ \- rolling green with mountains in the distance and the sunrise reflecting off the calm surface of the Black Lake in mesmerizing swirls of reds and golds- the empty hallways were rather….normal.  Though, the suits of armor were fairly consistent, as were the stone gargoyles and other stone mythical beasts, so that was pretty neat, too.

Okay, so the castle _was_ sort of _amazing_ , even without an overt amount of decorations.  The halls themselves smelled of earth, burning lavender, and magic- as strange as that sounded- and the disappearing knobs and occasionally swamp step on the _moving_ _staircases_ was rather thrilling.

Heather would appreciate that fact more when she wasn’t so tired and cranky. 

Tired-Heather _despised_ trick steps- she nearly fell down the main staircase- and bullshit disappearing knobs.

Still, the Great Hall had food and Heather was rather hungry.

They were really the only ones in the Hall- and the only Gryffindors at all- so they made themselves comfortable at the end of the table and dug in.  Heather kept an eye on the time, but they were done by, like, five after seven.

Heather did notice Sophie eating mostly gentle foods- like yogurt and some plain, steamed rice- and came to some private conclusions about the girl’s pre-Hogwarts diet.

They were just outside the doors to the Hall- the Slytherin first Years were being marched inside behind them- when they ran into a group of adults.

“Ah!  Roper and Potter?”  A stout, short man with blond hair and a mustache boomed rather loudly. 

“Yes?”  Heather answered warily, eying the ‘AP’ emblem on the man’s over robes, just under the Hogwarts Crest.  He had another set of crests on the opposite side that Heather couldn’t place.  The others kept walking, whispering to themselves and casting furtive glances back at her.

Heather grit her teeth and forcefully maintained her best neutral expression.

“You two are in the alternate classes for Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms.”  He handed them two pieces of parchment.  “The classes are next door to the main class.”  He smiled but it was overbearing and pompous to Heather.  That might just be her ire talking, though.  “We go a bit slower than the regular classes, so you’ll not be so overwhelmed.”

Then he swept off and before Heather could come to terms with the information- alternate classes, being thought of as slow, (stupid, the dark part of her mind whispered slyly), Assistant Professors- Malfoy’s laugh echoed off the halls.

“Well, well, well.  Little Heiress Potter is in the _squib_ classes.”  He spat nastily before he straightened his robes and sauntered off, still laughing. 

Heather heard his voice loudly saying something inside and she just couldn’t take it anymore.

“ _This does not define us._ ”  Heather hissed fiercely to Sophie, the list crumpling in her clenched hand.  “So we’re in alternate classes.  So what?  We have _resources_ and they will _rue the day_ they counted us out because we will be great.  _Without their fucking special treatment_.”  She gave the startled Sophie a smile full of teeth.  “Let the fools talk, dear.  It’s what their good at.”

Heather threw a disgusted glance at the Great Hall, squared her shoulder, and stalked off towards the stairs. 

She paused at the first step.  “You coming, Sophie?”

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Sophie Roper had been unwanted for as long as she could remember.

Her parents were still alive, after all, they just hadn’t wanted her.  Left at the home when she was six and signed away all their rights and responsibilities to her. 

No matter how good Sophie had been, it was never good enough to make up for her stringy hair- her mother’s hair was beautiful; or clumsy movements- all her siblings were naturally graceful; or her trouble learning- the words mixed themselves up and twisted into knots on the pages no matter how hard she tried; or her forgetfulness- “I told you not to touch it a hundred times, stupid girl!”.

Needless to say, she hadn’t had a much easier time at the home.

People could be cruel when they were trying to build themselves up by tearing someone else down.  Especially someone who they were encouraged to ‘remind her of her place’.

Even learning about magic had been bittersweet.

_“You’re plain and not very powerful.”  Assistant Professor Yaxley told her with a sympathetic smile.  “But if you are proven to be fertile, you could potentially make a decent Mistress for a Lesser Family.”  He put a gentle hand on her head.  “There’s a little stipend for you to use, but you’ll be much better off if you sign yourself over to me so I can set you up with a Sponsor.  I promise they’ll want your children.”_

Sophie had nearly cried.  It had been the first time someone had been nice to her in what felt like forever.

But she had always craved freedom, had always made plans to make it on her own.

So she had said no.

Assistant Professor Yaxley had treated her rather awfully after that.  He’d also only given her half of the stipend for being so ‘irresponsible and arrogant’.  He’d occasionally be nice and try to cajole her into ‘signing herself over’, but Sophie had been firm.

And once she’d gotten back to the home and thought about she figured out what his behavior reminded her of.

_Street Pimps._

Sophie’s orphanage was in a bad neighborhood and she’d seen how that life turned out.  And while she didn’t condemn anyone for their choices- survival on the streets was tough and she was right on the edge of that- she didn’t want that life for herself.  All the caretakers had street ties and Sophie knew that if she wanted out she had to make it herself, because they didn’t care about her at all.

She called up the tattered scraps of her confidence and self-worth and resolved to not give in to the Assistant Professor’s game.

Then she’d spent the train ride to Hogwarts with some of the Assistant Professor’s ‘cousins’ and she’d just wanted to be back at the home.  More of the same roundabout game- carrot, stick, stick, carrot- until her mind was so confused she could barely hear herself think.

It had been a long nine hours.

At first Heather had scared Sophie.  The other girl had just seemed so angry, and Sophie had thought it was from being forced to share a room with her.

But-

Heather was lovely. 

 _Kind_. 

Far nicer than anyone had ever been to Sophie, at any rate.  And Sophie had nothing to offer the other girl. 

Heather hadn’t even yelled at her for wetting _Heather’s bed_!

Finding out that she was in the ‘slow’ class wasn’t anything new for Sophie, but Heather’s reaction definitely was.

_“This does not define us.”_

And Sophie suddenly understood what Mauve had meant when the drag queen- who usually paid Sophie to run errands during the day- had told her- “ _Don’t pass up that one chance to find yourself someone worthy of followin’ kid.  People like us gotta take what we can get, but everyone gets one shot at climbin’ out.  Mine was Frankie. I might not own this pub, but I run it.  I call my own shots and can toss out any tosser who gets lippy.  It’s a risk- anything worth havin’ is- but otherwise you end up dead on the street.  You’re a good lass, Sophie, don’t let these bastards break you.”_

“You coming, Sophie?”  Heather asked, foot poised over the bottom step and her pretty eyes alight with determination.

Sophie’s heartbeat was loud and her world narrowed to a point.

Because-

Because Heather was looking at her as if she had no doubt that Sophie could make something of herself.

No one had ever looked at her like that before.  Not ever.

Heather might be a secretly evil person, one night didn’t really mean anything overall.  But Sophie _wanted_ to believe that Heather was truly kind, that she saw something worthwhile inside Sophie.  That Heather could see something no one else could and that Sophie wasn’t worthless.

“Y-yeah.” Sophie croaked out, feeling something between euphoria and terror as she stumbled closer to her roommate.  “Yes.”  She said firmer, somehow more confident just standing beside the other girl.  “I-I want to prove that-that I’m more than just a-a unwanted street rat.”

Heather nodded primly and looped an arm through Sophie’s own, marching them up the stairs with her head held high and disregarding all the stares and whispers that followed them.

And for the first time in a very long while, Sophie actually felt brave.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather had finally reached the end of her ‘tired and stressed’ tether and moved onto ‘pure spite and determination’.

It would be a fight, Heather knew, but she wasn’t going to just lay down and quit.

She had the Hogwarts Library, Aunt Cassie and Grandfather, Liv, Bixbite, and others.

Oh, and Harry was going to be highly displeased.

And, really, while some students might need accommodations, this system didn’t seem made to help them.  Rather it seemed to serve to highlight their ‘deficiencies’ and isolate them, which was the _very last thing_ a student with learning difficulties needed!  They needed support and understanding and lessons tailored to help them succeed! 

Not this…..isolationist and arrogant bullshit!

As they made their way back to the Tower, Heather was reminded of the ‘crab bucket’ story she’d heard a lifetime ago.

_“You don’t want crab friends, baby.”  Great-grandma soothed after Before-her had lost a ‘friend’.  More like a child who only came by to eat great-grandma’s food and wasn’t interested in Before-her after that food was no longer freely offered.  “Crab friends are like those crab buckets.”_

_“Crab buckets?”  Before-her had sniffed curiously.  What did crabs have to do with anything?_

_“Crabs in a bucket tend to drag down any lucky crab who starts to climb out.”  Grandma informed her gently.  “They grab ahold of them and pull them back down instead of helping them up.  You don’t want friends like that.”_

Yeah, well, Heather didn’t want educators like that, either!

By the time they made it back to the Tower Heather had a rough outline for several letters.  Also, she really hoped Harry remembered to call Mimsy otherwise Aunt Cassie was going to be very displeased.

She split with Sophie in the common room, bouncing up the steps to the boys’ dorm and throwing the door open to the ‘First Years’ dorm.

Hilariously, there was only the one dorm.

Sarcasm.  It was her friend.

“Rise and shine, cupcake~!”  She belted out cheerily.

There was a very un-manly yelp.  Followed nearly immediately by a plaintive,  “Why aren’t _we_ protected from the girls!”

Heather ignored the fuss and bounced over to the bed labeled as Harry’s.  “Sunshine~!” She sang playfully.  “Good morni-mph.”

A hand reached out from the hangings and slapped over her mouth.  “Sing that song and _die_.”  Harry’s muffled voice groaned resignedly.  “You _know_ it gets stuck in my head.”

Heather licked his palm.

Harry withdrew his hand with a muffled curse and threw the hangings aside.  “What.  The.  Hell?!”

“Woke up early.  Had breakfast.  Found out they put me in special education classes.”  Heather summarized neatly.  “Did you-?”

“Yes.”  Harry cut her off, his green gaze narrowed sharply.  “Advanced?”

“Slow.”  Heather chirped with a fixed smile.

Harry made a face. “Pay?”

“In blood.”  She affirmed with a sharp grin.

“ _Good_.”  Harry said firmly, hauling himself out of his bed, Mallie moving into the warm spot he left behind.  “ _Bastards_.”

“Uh?”  A very sleepy Ron mumbled mutinously.  “For the non-twin members of the dorm?”

“They put Heather-feather in ‘alternate’ classes.  And then were all patronizing about it.  She’s gonna make them wish they were dead.”  Harry summarized neatly, trudging over to his trunk and digging out his toiletries.

“Eh?”  Was Ron’s response, as he looked between the twins.  “Are they bloody mental?”

“Very.”  Harry said with feeling as he made his way towards the loo.  “Heather-feather’s _scary_ when she’s on the warpath.”

Heather cheerfully waved at the other occupants of the room and bounced out the door.  “Fifteen minutes, Har-bear!  You gotta braid my hair and its halfway dry!”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Harry hollered back.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather was pleased to note that her bed was made up and free of the smell of urine when she returned from waking Harry up.

‘ _I have to do something nice for the Hogwarts elves._ ’  She decided as she sat down at her desk and dug out her color-coding supplies.

“We only have about four classes a day.”  She said out loud once she really looked at her schedule- it was written in a rather confusing manner, but it didn’t take her too much effort to decode it.  “Potions, History, Charms, and DADA today.  We’ll be done at three-thirty.”  She muttered out loud as she use magically made colored inks to highlight the different classes.

“That’s kind of….light, isn’t it?”  Sophie asked as she came over to stand by Heather’s desk, peering down at her roommate’s parchment curiously.

“It seems to be.”  Heather admitted, holding out a hand for Sophie’s schedule.  “Do you want me to do yours, too?”

“If you don’t mind.”  Sophie admitted shyly, handing over schedule.

“Not at all.”  Heather replied with a smile.  “We don’t want to be all work and no play, but these next few weeks are going to be pretty time-consuming.”  Heather tossed Sophie a wry grin.  “But I really want to wipe that annoying, condescending tone out of _Assistant Professor Diggory’s_ voice.”

Okay, so maybe she was a _tad_ salty about this whole issue.

“Me too.”  Sophie admitted shyly, fiddling with the edges of her robe and looking down at her feet.  “But I might just slow you down.  I can’t- I don’t read very well.”

Heather blinked at the other girl.  “Do you have trouble with reading itself or do the words go all squirrely on you?”

“The last one.”  Sophie admitted, peering at Heather through the fringe of her hair.

“Well, we’ll have to learn a silencing charm and do more reading out loud, then.”  Heather decided with an unconcerned shrug.  “Maybe find a charm or something- or ask Professor Flitwick about one- that might help alleviate the eye strain.”

Heather presented Sophie with her schedule with a flourish.  “Now, to feed the tiny terror and make sure my brother eats breakfast~!”  she declared as she shouldered her satchel and made for the door.

Chromie meowed from her comfy spot on Heather’s bed.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

As he sat on his trunk and braided his sister’s hair- she was sitting on the floor- Harry contemplated just how difficult he wanted to be about the school’s treatment of his Heather-feather.

He had _eyes and ears_ , thanks.

Harry hadn’t been entirely sold on coming to Hogwarts to begin with.  Beauxbatons was in just over France and both twins were perfectly fluent in French!

But Cousin Dora had lots of amazing stories- and so did Sirius when he was coherent- and Aunt Cassie had said that, to the people who had supported Voldy, it would be a ‘retreat’.  Especially with the pending lawsuit for the whole office incident- that Harry was still _very angry_ about- and the Will reading that was set for the third week of the month.

_Retreat, hell.  They just got here!_

Heather had added that if the Will reading didn’t go ‘their way’ they might be pulled from Beauxbatons and forced to attend Hogwarts anyway.

Harry hadn’t been overly thrilled, but he’d subsided.

Now, though.

They’d put Heather-feather in different classes than him.  And not in advanced classes-like his brilliant sister deserved- but classes that were  for ‘slow’ people.

First of all, Harry was offended on sheer principle.

Gramps was a _teacher_!  Coach was Coach!  And Kris had tutored kids in art and reading!

He’d grown up with educators!

All of them had taught him that just because someone learned differently didn’t mean that they learned ‘wrong’.  It was all about reaching a student of athlete halfway.  Sure they might need some help, but _everyone_ needed help sometimes!  Even Heather-feather did and she was the smartest person he knew!  He’d been taught that asking for help wasn’t a sign of weakness, it was a strength.  And that anyone who made fun of him for it had ‘inadequacy issues’.

Whatever _those_ were.

Gramps had tutored Timmy Findley for _years_.  And instead of failing school- like everyone else in Little Whinging had said he would- he’d gone on to university!  All because Gramps had taken time with him and tailored his lessons to how Timmy learned, instead of ‘trying to shove a unique shape through a standard slot’.

Gramps’ words.

Then again, Gramps had several of those.   Like, “ _It is the supreme art of the teacher to awaken joy in creative expression and knowledge_ ,” and _“The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination,”_ then there was “ _Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.”_

Nana had always teased Gramps about being an ‘Einstein fan’.

 _Ow_.

Thinking about Nana still hurt sometimes.  Sort of a _good_ hurt, but still a hurt.

Still.  If these people thought he was going to sit quietly and smile politely while the mistreated his sister, they were out of their damn minds.  He didn’t care if they got kicked out- even if they were forced out of the wizarding world entirely. 

Besides, Aunt Cassie could teach them!  She said she would!

“Thanks, Har-bear!”  Heather chirped, tipping her head back to smile up at him.  “What’d you do today?”

She looked so tired.  Exhausted in that stressed out way she’d been since they’d arrived in this crazy world.

Harry very carefully swallowed back his desire to grab his sister and run.  “I did a messy double thick braid- like the milkmaid ones?- in the back with a side-crown in the front.”

“You’re the _greatest_ little brother!”  Heather chirped, her violet eyes warming to their natural hue for the first time this morning as she hopped up and kissed his cheek loudly and pranced over to the wall mirror, audibly admiring his work.  “I would be so lost without you!”

 _‘Yeah, me too.’_   He wanted to say.  But he just grinned to her and looked over at the girl who she’d introduced as her roommate.  “Do you want your hair braided, too?”  He thought for a moment, “Uh, Sophie, right?”

She squeaked. “N-no it’s fine!”

Harry smiled at her and waved her over anyways.  “C’mon. Your hair is different than Heather-feather’s so it’ll be a learning experience for me!”

She looked conflicted, but Heather was talking to Dean over across the room, trying to coax Neville into the conversation as well.

 _‘Always looking out for everyone else.’_ Harry thought affectionately as he motioned Sophie over again, this time succeeding.  “Don’t worry, it’ll be over quick and then we can go find some breakfast!”

Sophie’s hair was rather thin and much shorter than Heather’s, so he just did two thick braids down the sides and then wrapped them around in a messy braided bun at the back.  He left a few strands out to frame her face, and the hairstyle made her look far more…….. confident.

“Oooh~!  That’s _adorable_.”  Heather cooed as she bounced over and inspected her roommate’s hair.  “I give it an eleven out of ten!  Way to go, Har-bear!  Your skills are unmatched!”

Harry flushed with pleasure.  He was proud of his abilities.  They were something that he could do for Heather that always made her perk up a bit.  Actually having her hair done made her almost ridiculously happy and Harry was rather pleased that his hair-braiding abilities were part of her daily ‘armor’.

And, in Harry’s mind, she sort of looked like a shieldmaiden ready to lead her armies to war.

Which was actually pretty accurate, really.

Hm. 

Dean said he was an artist, right?  Kris had done the occasional commission- maybe Dean would draw ‘feather as a proper shieldmaiden, leading an army against the forces of injustice.  Kinda like that Paladin-guy she respected so much.

“Where’d you learn how to do that, mate?”  Ron asked from his bed, still half-asleep and somewhat groggy.  He was half-dressed and laying on his still unmade bed, presumably airing out a bit.

The girls were standing near the wall mirror, admiring Harry’s handiwork and talking to Dean and Neville- the former more than the latter- and Ron and Seamus had returned from their showers while Harry had been braiding Sophie’s hair.

They hadn’t been about to take them until Heather threatened to toss them headfirst into the loo, pajamas and all.  They’d looked to Harry for help, but he’d just nodded emphatically, well aware that Heather really was that crazy.

She was _his_ hygiene-obsessed weirdo though.

“Coach.”  Harry answered his new friend.  “I’ve done ‘feather’s hair pretty much every day since we were like, seven.”

“And he’s amazing.”  Heather butted in cheerfully, bouncing back over to Harry and giving him one of those full contact hugs he secretly loved and pretended to protest.  “Otherwise I’d never look even half as presentable!”

Harry rolled his eyes and pushed his sister back far enough to stand up, then he linked arms with her.  “Let’s go get breakfast.  It’s about half past seven.”

“Grab your Potions and history of Magic stuff.”  Heather said with a strained grin.  “They are the before-lunch classes.  We’ll have History together, at least.”

Yeah, Harry wasn’t going to be anything less than a brat about this split class crap.

Gramps taught a classroom full of multiple years _without_ magic.  These people needed to up their damn game.

Once he’d gathered his stuff, he returned to Heather’s side, linking arms with her again and grinning at her.  “Shall we?”  He drawled, knowing how directionless his sister tended to be.

“Hmph.”  Heather huffed in faux-offense, sticking her nose in the air.  “I’ll have you know that Sophie and I have been down to the Hall and I only got us lost _three_ times!”

“Our lives are in your hands then, Sophie.”  Harry informed the girl somberly, trying to not break character.

Sophie giggled and curtsied.  “I will do my best, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded very officiously and turned to his roommates.  “Come, brothers.  ‘Tis time to brave the wild halls and find ourselves sustenance!”

His roommates looked at him like he was crazy while Heather tried to muffle her laughter into his shoulder.

It was glorious.

Ron eventually shrugged and walked towards them.  “So long as there aren’t any spiders.”

“’Tis but a scratch.”  Heather quoted through her giggles.

“Well, let’s get going.  Come along Patsy!”  Harry cited with feeling, walking out of the dorm arm-in-arm with Heather.

“Running away, eh?  Come back here!  I’ll bite your legs off!”  Heather laughed as her brother pompously stuck his nose in the air and strode forward with purpose.

“I’m your king!”  Harry exclaimed after Heather made growling sounds and poked him in the sides, causing him to squirm away from her but not let her go.

“I didn’t vote for you!”  Heather railed as they climbed out of the portrait.

“You don’t vote for kings!”  Harry protested with an exaggerated from.

Heather arched an eyebrow at him, ignoring the laughter of the portrait and the stares from their year mates.  “How’d you become king then?”

“The Lady of the Lake, clad in her purest shimmering-“  Harry paused and thought for a second before he shrugged and merrily plowed onward.  “-clad in her purest shimmering _whatever_ \- held aloft Excalibur, declaring by divine providence that _I_ was meant to wield Excalibur.  That is how I became your king.”

“Look, man.”  Heather told him with overly exaggerated patience.  “Strange women lyin' around in ponds distributin' swords is no basis for a system of government.  Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some far- far-ci-cal aquatic ceremony.”  Heather laughed at her tongue twisting.

“Go and boil your bottoms, you sons of silly persons!”  Harry declared grandly as they made it to the main staircase.

“I don’t know whether to be amused or worried.” Ron whispered to Sophie behind them.

The twins laughed all the way down to the Great Hall.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**\---XXX---**

“Thank you, Percy.”  Heather told the Prefect gratefully, the boys and Sophie having arrived at the Potions classroom safe and sound and early.

“It is my duty as a Prefect.”  The boy said rather pompously, but Heather wasn’t offended.  Percy seemed inordinately pleased to have been asked for help and was just a little caught up in the moment.

He also hadn’t said anything mean or snide about her and Sophie’s class arrangements, which endeared him to Heather.

The ‘alternate’ Potions classroom was around the corner from the ‘main’ one, so she had reluctantly said goodbye to Harry and moved forward.

Also, Potions was far too many stairs away from the Great Hall, let alone Gryffindor Tower.  And their next class- History- was all the way on the _other_ side of the castle!

Hogwarts was not exactly _small_.

Just as Percy left, their Assistant Professor rounded the far corner.

Heather disliked their Professor on sight.

Slicked back black hair, ice blue eyes, and an aura of smarminess.

“Sophie.  So _good_ to see you again.  Who is your friend?”  The man purred disturbingly, give Heather an assessing look.

It made her skin crawl.  She was eleven!  And, Heaven help her, even his voice grated unpleasantly against her senses.

“Heiress Heather Potter, of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter.”  Heather replied shortly, edging closer to Sophie and giving the man an entirely unimpressed look.  ‘ _Thank you Aunt Cassie and your crash course on Heir protocols!_ ’  “And _you_ are?”

The man paused mid-step, his mouth snapping shut as he gave her a rather bug-eyed look.  “Heiress?”  He inquired in a much more conciliatory tone, seeming almost afraid of the answer.

Heather’s smile was mostly teeth.  “Heiress.”  She confirmed sweetly as she raised her ring hand up to eye level.

The man finally put his foot down and stared at her.  “You-”  He said slowly as he eyed the ring with no small amount of trepidation.  “-should _not_ be in my class, Heiress.”

“And yet I am.”  Heather rejoined pleasantly.  “I trust that you will take good care of me?”  Heather looped an arm through Sophie’s arm.  “And my dear roommate, of course.  We’ve become fast friends.”

“Of course, Heiress.”  The man replied weakly, giving her a slight bow of respect.

He took far too long to do so.  Heather decided that she was _grievously offended_.

 _So_.  She did not acknowledge him with a much shallower but acquiescent bow.  She merely glared at him.

A pointed and spiteful snub.

He obviously noticed and very much minded, but he kept glancing at her ring, which she had oh-so-coincidentally made sure was in full view of the stupid man.

Heir rings were _notorious_ for their protections.  Especially lines that allowed lineal primogeniture.  Amusingly, the oldest lines on the Isles were more likely to follow the ideal of ‘the eldest surviving child’ while the _younger_ families tended to follow the ‘the eldest surviving son’ rules for inheritance.   So Houses like the Potters and the Blacks were the former while families like the Malfoys were the latter. 

And having the ring on her finger gave Heather equal or greater power in this situation, despite the man’s position.

Though the more she learned of Pureblood norms, the more she wondered about book-Harry and the treatment he received.  Because there were a lot of things that Old Families like the Potters were given a leg and a backflip up and over the normal status quo.

Then again, book-Harry hadn’t had her, Bixbite, Liv, the Montforts, _or_ Aunt Cassie.  Let alone Grandfather.

Also, Heather needed to write some letters tonight.  And she and Harry needed to write Sirius.

Out loud, to add insult to injury.  “Wonderful!”  She chirped, lowering her raised arm and smiling threateningly at him.  “Aunt Cassie will be _thrilled_ to hear it!”  She faux-paused and added coyly, “And Grandfather Arcturus, of course.”

Professor Yaxley went worryingly pale.

Several more students arrived right about then.  Three boys and seven girls.

Heather _definitely_ didn’t remember that many extra Slytherins from the books.

“Yes, of course.”  He finally replied, a bit green around the gills.  “Now, inside everyone!”

 _Jackass_.

In terms of classrooms, it was pretty expected.  At least, expected in the sense it smelled like the apothecary shop in Diagon.  There were canopic jars settled on the rough looing shelves- most of the disturbing ones like floating eyeballs being around eye level- and square, stone work stations made for four, with little recessed basins for their individual fires.

That had been an interesting tidbit. 

Not all magical fires for potion making were created equal.  Oh no.  The fire and the makeup of the cauldron and the way the ingredients were harvested all played an important part in how a potion turned out. 

Aunt Andy and Cousin Dora had given them some tips.  Dora’s Potions notes had been copied and were inside Heather’s trunk, actually.  Dora had gifted Heather with notes for other classes, too.  And Liv hadn’t thought to, but would likely send copies of her own notes if asked.

Hm.  Heather needed to find a Seventh Year who would be willing to part with their notes and to send to Liv to help her study for her NEWTs.

Heather sat down with Sophie at the station nearest to the door and prepared herself for whatever this man was going to throw at her.

She had options.  Even if this class was terrible, she’d manage somehow.

 _Somehow_.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Harry kept his temper as best as he could, but when the Professor made a snide comment about ‘feather being in the ‘alternate’ class he’d had enough.

Dramatic speeches? 

Ok.  He could deal.  He could respect theatrics.  Kris was prone to them.

Pointed questions, two of which he answered correctly coupled with points loss for his House? 

Fine.  Whatever.  He should have studied the plants more, he’d make a note of it.  The points loss seemed petty, but whatever made the Professor feel all grown up and in charge.

Insult Harry’s brilliant and amazing sister?  Insinuate that she was anything less than his equal or greater?

_No way in hell._

Grabbing his satchel- and leaving his ingredients and cauldron, Heather had packed spares-Harry ignored the man as he headed for the classroom door.  Harry felt the familiar tingling of Heather-feather’s magic and heard the man utter a curse, so Harry assumed Professor Snape had cast something at his back.

“Heather-feather carries our mother’s protection with her.” Harry informed the man coldly, standing at the door of the classroom.  “Everywhere she goes, the final masterwork of Lily Potter goes with her.”

The class had burst out into whispers when Harry had stood up and made for the door, but now they were utterly silent.

Aunt Andy had made sure to tell the twins that the castle would unlock any door from the _inside_ if a student felt they were in legitimate danger.  A safety measure that predated modern locking charms.  He was really hoping that was true or he was going to be stuck in this disgusting room for at least an hour. 

“And our mother died to make that protection a reality.”  Harry’s free hand curled into a tight fist.  “So did our father, but it was our mum who did the impossible.  I don’t know what James or Lily Potter you knew, but all _I_ know of them is that they stared in the face of certain death and embraced it so that we could live.  And I know that Heather loved _me_ enough to teach me to read and write and everything else that I know that’s worth knowing.  So you don’t get to stand there- to say that she’s anything less than the _best_ of _both our parents_.”  Harry felt the door unlock and he pushed it open.  “So expel me, I don’t care.  But a school that allows _a grown-ass man_ in a _position of authority_ to torment _Lily Potter’s daughter_ isn’t a school I’d be all that sad to leave behind.”’

Then Harry walked out, slamming the door shut behind him.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**\---XXX---**

Assistant Professor Yaxley was going over safety precautions- for both ingredients and cauldrons and brewing itself- in excruciating detail when the door to the classroom slammed open and Harry marched inside.

“Sorry I’m late!”  He chirped disturbingly cheerily given the thundercloud expression on his face.  “Went to the wrong class!”  He settled down in the free space next to Heather.

Heather raised an eyebrow at her brother, but kept her mouth shut at the anger she could feel resonating through his magic and the Potter Family Magic.

Well, then.

Assistant Professor Yaxley cleared his throat uncomfortably, but Heather merely crossed her legs and sat with her pen poised expectantly above her parchment.

She was going to need to practice her penmanship a bit more.  It was alright, but her lines weren’t always as elegant as she wanted them to be.

“….right.”  Assistant Professor said nervously.  “So, cauldrons.  You’ll need to measure the thickness of the bottoms at least once a month to make sure that….”

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

History had been about as boring as Heather had expected from the books, which was a damn shame because they had a _ghost teacher_.  How was that not amazing and awesome and generally awe-inspiring?  History was amazing and interesting and only someone truly dedicated to mediocrity could make Heather’s _favorite_ subject coma-inducing.

Also, every time he said ‘goblin savage’ she had wanted to scream.

Good times.

Harry had filled her in on what, exactly, had happened in Potions- before he’d arrived in Assistant Professor Yaxley’s class- and she was torn.

On the one hand, she was incensed that her brother had actually been singled out and attempted to be publically humiliated on by a Professor.

On the other hand, Harry had unintentionally stomped all over Snape’s deepest, most profound injury.

Snape’s ‘love’ for Lily had haunted the man for years, even if Heather personally felt that he was a horrid man who felt like he owned Lily just because she had been nice to him.  It reminded her of the few unpleasant run-ins Before-her’s friends had had with ‘nice’ guys who reacted badly to being ‘friendzoned’.

(“And then he got all mad and aggressive.  Towering over me while I was sitting on the floor holding my controller and yelling at me for being a tease.”  Her friend griped as they drowned their woes in Before-her’s special homemade cheese dip and Tarantulas.  “Going on and on about how he’s a ‘nice guy’ and how- like I owed him access to my body because we hung out and played a lot of Halo together.”  She blinked a few times, the redness around her eyes highlighting her aggrieved expression.  “At my house while eating my food, might I add.” She paused a moment before heatedly adding, “And I was in sweatpants and a t-shirt, even!  I have _no friggin’ clue_ how he managed to think- to get confused!”  She made air quotations while snarling out the last two towards.

“He’s a dudebro, sweetheart.”  Before-her had remarked distastefully, sipping at her sole alcoholic drink of the evening.  “Dudebros try to use the nice guy schtick to justify their terrible life decisions and the fact that they think gracing a person with their attentions requires some sort of physical payment.”  She shook her head in disgust.  “They’re neither nice nor good for you.  They’re the kind of guy who buys drinks but doesn’t actually approach a girl until she is sufficiently inebriated.  Those people infuriate me, I’m glad we arranged that check-up call.”

“I was so scared.”  Her friend admitted quietly, blinking back tears.  “I was so glad when you and your husband showed up at the door!  Tell him thanks for coming along, won’t you?”

From the other room, Before-her’s husband hollered, “No problem!”)

What bothered Heather the most about hat last part- of Harry accidentally stomping all over Snape’s oldest wound- was that she couldn’t bring herself to scold Harry.  Despite her innate compassion and wanting to ensure her brother didn’t dehumanize anyone he happened to dislike or disagree with, Heather couldn’t find it in herself to chastise Harry for his words.

Harry was a smart and kind boy.  Had proven this fact over and over again.  She didn’t fear him growing up to be someone who used their words to tear other people down just because he could.

And-

 Heather _remembered_.

_The man kissed her mother’s brow with eerily contrasting gentleness before he gripped a thin piece of wood that she understood to be his wand and pointed it at her unconscious brother, who was sitting up next to her prone form.  She had screamed just as the man snarled something in a low, menacing tone of voice that hurt her heart to hear even in a half-fogged recollection, and then her memory just…ended._

So, when they were nearly at the doors of the Great Hall after History-they’d been on their way to lunch- and Professor McGonagall came to get Harry, Heather stepped in.

“Mr. Potter, the Headmaster wishes to speak with you.”  Their stern Head of House said primly.  “Miss Potter, this doesn’t concern you, please proceed to lunch.”

Heather adored Minerva ‘McBadass’ McGonagall, but she wasn’t putting up with that tone.

“Heiress Potter, actually, Professor.”  Heather corrected her Head of House with a gentle smile.  “And Harry is my Heir-Apparent, so I must be present for any disciplinary measures taken against him.”  Heather’s smile stayed fixed under her Head of House’s startled, wide-eyed look.  “Protocol, you understand.”

Harry helpfully grabbed her ring hand and showed it off.  “See?  Heather-feather has the pretty ring and everything!”

Her brother was a little shit.

Heather _adored_ him.

“O-of course.”  Professor McGonagall managed, quickly gathering herself up and nodding primly.  “This way.”  And then she was sweeping towards the right-side main staircase.

“Go on, we’ll meet back at the tower or in Charms.”  They assured the boys and Sophie.  “Wish us luck!”

Then they hurried after the Professor.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Albus had been listening to Severus rant for nearly twenty minutes by the time Minerva and the Potter twins arrived.

“Minerva?”  He asked genially, though he was confused as to why his Deputy had brought both of them to this meeting.  “Miss Potter-“

“Heiress Potter requested to attend, as Mr. Potter is her Heir-Apparent.”  Minerva informed him stiffly.

Albus raised an eyebrow and looked to the red-haired girl, who raised her hand obediently.

Well, that was certainly an unexpected development.

“I made Harry my Heir-Apparent after the incident at the Potter office.”  She informed Albus helpfully.  “I felt it was prudent to ensure no mix-ups happened if I were to suddenly kick the bucket.”

That was Dorea Black-Potter’s placid ‘nothing to see here’ smile. 

Albus didn’t trust it one whit.

“Headmaster!”  Severus snapped angrily, his whole form radiating fury.

Albus knew that he asked much of Severus, but the man’s petty campaign against anything that reminded him of his past was rather tiring.  Truthfully Severus was a terrible teacher, if a rather fine Head of House, but anywhere else he could be gainfully employed would place him back on the same dark path that had led to the death of his childhood friend.  Albus knew that Voldemort was not gone for good and in order to have a well-placed spy in the enemy camp it was imperative that Severus remain free, able to use Hogwarts and Albus himself as an excuse to not get too involved with his old crowd.

And that meant dealing with the man’s constant scheming and occasional tantrum.

That, and it was difficult enough to find a Potions Master that was willing to teach, let alone a Potions Master and a Slytherin Head of House that the students felt that they could trust.  Older Slytherin alumni didn’t understand the new, post-Voldemort dynamic, while the younger ones nearly universally came from pro-Voldemort families.

And the few didn’t never seemed to respond with anything relatively near to positivity to his casual inquiries.

Pity.

At any rate, he’d heard rumors of the girl being the Heiress, but had largely put them out of his mind, partially because of how busy he’d been and partially because he hadn’t believed she had the magical aptitude for it.

Old Magick Heir and Lord Rings were rightly and justly feared.  A fusion of Blood Magic, Alchemy, Ritual Magic, Wild Magic, and Primordial Bloodborne Traits all meshed together into a set of powerful sigils that grew in power with each successive generation of bearers.

Master Alchemist and committed academic he might be, Albus had yet to understand the full complexities and nuances of the rings- and not for lack of trying.  His cousin had even been patient enough to allow Albus plenty of time with the Dumbledore family rings over the years, and even then Albus was constantly learning something new.  About his own Family Magic!

Research was fascinating and exciting!  Magic was just so interesting and simple, yet complex and terrible at the same time.

As he was yet again reminded by the ring on young Heather’s hand.

Family Magic did not accept Heirs unable to wield the Family Magic, that much he did know.  So while he did not know how powerful or not the girl was, the Old Magicks had seen something noteworthy in her, which was remarkable.

Severus himself, while a powerful and capable wizard, had yet to get the Prince Family rings to accept him.  He tried at least once every few years, but even with his close blood relation via his mother, the Prince Family Magic refused to accept him.  Actually, in recent years it had begun attacking him with increasingly hostile intent, which in turn caused Gringotts to charge higher fees for each successive test.  Truthfully Albus had suspected that the rings would have immolated Severus long ago had he not been so closely blood related to the previous Lord and Master of the Prince Family Magics.

Albus dreaded the day that another took the assessment and was accepted by the Prince Family Magics.  And it was _entirely_ possible, as it was only Lucius Malfoy’s connections and quiet bribery that kept the other eligible heirs from taking the assessment, as they assumed- thanks to helpful and well placed rumors- that Severus just didn’t wear the ring due to his occupation as a Potion’s Master, which wasn’t entirely unheard of.

Family Magics were a mystery that Albus would dearly love to spend more time exploring.

Alas, duty often called him away from his passion for magical research.  He hadn’t accidentally set his beard on fire in ages!

Pity.

“Do either of you happen to know the _Lumos_ charm, perchance?”  He asked them with a smile, his mind working on several different lines of enquiry at the same times.

The twins shared a look before Harry nodded.  “Yeah?”

“Excellent!”  Albus said genially, clapping his hands and waving his- original, it was far more precise- wand in a few intricate patterns as he spoke.  “Now, I’d like you both to take out your wands and think of the _Lumos_ spell- think of it, but not say it- and then when I give you the go-ahead give it all you’ve got!”

“Sure.”  Heather replied bemusedly, withdrawing her wand and pointing it downwards.  “Where should we aim our wands, Headmaster?”

“Just…here!”  Albus said with some satisfaction, giving them each a smoky mirror to point at.  “Alright!  Ready to power up?”

The twins nodded and raised their wands.

“Ready and- begin!”  Albus proclaimed.

Ah, but he _did_ miss teaching.

Albus watched his little personal timer count down from forty-five seconds. 

The spell he had woven wouldn’t measure the twins’ magic, per se, but rather would measure their magical output as compared to his normal _Lumos_ spell, which he would perform after their results were locked in, to prevent his power from overwhelming or warping their own output.

“And, now!”  He said, tapping his glasses to prevent their twin flashes from blinding him.

And they were quite bright!  Harry’s was a bit brighter, but Heather’s was a bit more controlled.

Albus nodded at them and then performed his own _Lumos_ \- with his original wand to much more carefully and precisely moderate his magical output.

Well.  _Those_ were certainly interesting results.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Headmaster?”  The young lady asked him politely, smiling in a way that told him she was not easily distracted nor fooled.

“I did.  Thank you both for humoring me!”  He replied cheerfully, banishing his spell onto some parchment in his personal study.  “Now, then, we must discuss today’s Potions class.”

“He insulted, ‘feather.  While she wasn’t even there to defend herself.”  Harry mumbled sulkily.  “He’s a _teacher_.”

Severus exploded in outrage and Harry glared for all that he was worth, but Heather’s eyes remained locked onto the Headmaster’s own.

Albus’ intuition told him that this moment was important.  And given that girl had already done the impossible a few times before- getting a Letter, being Heiress Potter-  he was feeling cautious.

“I’d like to speak to the Headmaster without an audience for a minute, if he’ll indulge me?”  Heather finally requested primly, settling her hands neatly in her lap.  She smiled reassuringly at her twin, who nodded grudgingly but then returned to glaring daggers at Severus.

Minerva seemed uncharacteristically subdued, but as she had put Heather in the classes for the magically disadvantaged, Albus could understand why.

Severus, predictably but rather unfortunately, exploded with rage at the idea of giving the twins ‘special treatment’.

Heather’s smile froze over and Albus knew that he needed to understand what could cause an eleven-year-old girl to make an expression that mirrored Dorea Potter’s face when the Potter Lady had confronted Walburga Black in Diagon the summer the Potters had taken Sirius in.

It was staunch protectiveness and righteous anger and being two breaths shy of unleashing wholesale righteous retribution.

Namely at Albus’ ranting Potions Master.

Summarily Albus sent Minerva off to one antechamber with Harry and sent Severus off to a separate one.

“Do you have a Pensive?”  Heather inquired once they were alone.

His eyebrows rose to his hairline.  “I’m surprised you’ve heard of them- they’re quite rare, you see- but, yes, I do.”

Heather smiled at him and Albus was instantly on guard.

That was Dorea and Lily Potter all in one look and both of those witches had been frightening when their ire was sufficiently roused.

“You’ll have to explain how to copy a memory, of course, but I’d like to share one with you, so that you might better understand my feelings about Severus Snape.”  She smiled gently.  “I remember, you see.  That he was there the night our parents died.  I don’t remember anything else, really, just this one scene that has stubbornly refused to fade away.”

Albus sucked in a sharp breath.  “I would very much like to see that memory, Miss Potter.”

And he would.  While she might not remember anything substantial, the information he, as a rather learned wizard, could gather from her innocent memory could prove invaluable.

“As for copying it, well it comes down to intent.”  He continued with a genial smile as he walked around the desk to stand in front of her, trying to keep his eagerness out of his voice.  “Just think of the memory as clearly as you can and want for me to copy it.  Your magic will do the rest.”

“I will do my best, Headmaster.”  She replied as she closed her eyes and furrowed her brow in concentration.  “There.”  She said after nearly a full minute later.  “That’s as clear as I can get it.”

Albus quickly pulled the thin, silvery strand from her and placed it in a vial he’d summoned.  “I’ll be but a moment.”

**\---XXX---**

Heather sighed and slumped back in her chair a little as the Headmaster disappeared into a side door.

This was a terribly huge risk.

But-

Well, first off, there were several portraits that were part of Aunt Cassie’s super-secret network and she was certain that they would report ant attempted Obliviations to Aunt Cassie. Then there was her security charm and Heir ring.

Secondly, she really _did_ want to give the Headmaster some perspective.

How he chose to deal with this situation would go a long way as to determining how Heather chose to deal with him from this point forward.

Heather liked to think that the Headmaster was somewhere between Neutral Good and Chaotic Good; the Benefactor and the Rebel.  The problem, in the books at least, was that he tried to be Lawful Good- the Crusader- and sort of lost the plot.

But his reaction to seeing Snape cast a spell at her _defenseless toddler brother_ would determine how she thought of him until Voldy was no longer an issue, at the very least.

The office was charmingly eccentric, with an overabundance of portraits, squishy chintz seats, lots of books and neat gizmos.  The large, curved desk was piled high with different colored parchments, some of them moving about seemingly of their own power.  She could see Fawkes’ perch, but she was disappointed to notes he couldn’t see the majestic bird anywhere.

When the headmaster returned, he seemed vexed.  “Miss Potter, does your brother know of this particular memory?”

“Not specifically, no.”  Heather admitted easily.  “I felt that it might impair Harry’s judgement, though I had no idea the man would be our Professor.”

The Headmaster nodded, blue eyes serious.  “I appreciate your maturity.  I will have to consider this situation carefully.”

“I appreciate your hard work, headmaster.”  Heather gamely replied.  “If I might make a suggestion?”

“You may, Miss Potter.”  He said leaning forward and leaning his chin on his braided fingers.

“Our year is extremely small, which is understandable given the year we were all born.”  Heather said as matter-of-factly as she could.  “Instead of the alternate Potions class, can we not all attend the same class?  With an Assistant Professor to aid him and some…ah, stricter behavioral guidelines, I am certain Professor Snape could easily handle the class.”  Heather smiled gently.  “And if not, we will know he is incapable of letting go of the past no matter the assistance or distractions provided.  Then you and I- and Harry and I’s guardian, after the Will is read- might discuss alternate options.”  She blinked innocently.  “Such as a….substitute teacher.”

Surprisingly, instead of anger of offense, the Headmaster’s bead twitched as he struggled not to smile.  “I shall take that plan under advisement, Miss Potter, thank you.  Now, shall we call the others and conclude this meeting?”

“Please.”  Heather said with feeling.  “I’m _starving_.”

**\---XXX---**

Charms had been surprisingly fun.

Professor Flitwick had a policy of combining the first weeks’ worth of classes and had made certain to emphasize that his door was open to all of his students, not just the ones he taught in the ‘regular’ classes.  He had introduced them to his Apprentice, Fiona Shacklebolt- who had some seriously on point gold eye makeup that make her dark brown eyes seem to glow; Heather was _so_ _jealous_ -who would be their Assistant Professor.

Heather also discovered that First through Third Years rotated Magical Theory lectures through the Charms and Transfiguration class periods.  Meaning that every third class period would be pure lecture and, in the case of Professor Flitwick, they would all be together for those classes.

As an added side note, the cheerful, short- Heather was fairly certain she was a few inches taller than him- little Professor reminded her of an overexcited music teacher.

Rather fitting considering he had extolled the benefits of joining the Hogwarts Choral Club at least three times.

Their last class of their first day was DADA.

And it had been rather eye-opening.

Quirinus Quirrell was a surprisingly handsome man with sandy blond hair and tired green eyes.  He did stutter a bit, but he was likeable and engaging. He kept the class engrossed as he lectured, and the classroom itself held thick tomes and animated posters of dueling stances or basic spells.

It had been…..rather fun, actually.

And no purple turban in sight!

Actually, his robes looked much like students’, only a bit grander and made for easier mobility.  Heather noted that they were cut a bit shorter and seemed to fit loosely, though not overly so.

Is this who Quirinus Quirrell had been without Voldemort?  Was it an act?  Or had he just been a person in the entirely wrong place at the right moment and had been held hostage by a supremely powerful and insidious old man’s spirit?

Voldemort seemed like the kind of manipulative entity that would sink into a person’s thought and sue their own insecurities against them.  Convince them that he could help, that he would make things better, and by the time they realized Voldy was a self-serving pile of shite with severe daddy issues, they’d be too far in to get out.

That was how the Diary had snared little Ginny, after all.

Eh.  She’d take it one day at a time.  At any rate, DADA was surprisingly fun _and_ it didn’t give Har-bear a migraine!

All about the little things, man!

**\---XXX---**

The Hogwarts Library was _amazing_.

It was like the Library from Beauty and the Beast, except thrice as large.  The scent of old tomes and parchment and ink made Heather lightheaded and the little nooks scattered about at random made her feel safe and secure.

Yeah, she was a _little_ weird.

Located on the first floor, not all that far from the Great Hall, it seemed to sprawl the width of Surrey’s Tesco, and stretch as tall as the highest points of the castle itself!

It was huge!

It held particularly beautiful, varied in size, stained glass windows and was mostly lighted by strangely contained little balls of light.  Some of which floated about freely, while others settled on to little ice-cream cone looking things and could be carried around, others still gathered overhead of tables that held students peering over books.  There were _some_ mounted candelabras, staggered along the top portions of bookshelf ends and safely away from the flammable books, while oil lamps were periodically placed along the interior wall.

It was strangely soothing, even with today’s heavy cloud cover and overall rainy weather.

Also, it was really dry.  Like, _zero percent humidity_.

Madam Pince seemed to appreciate being _asked_ about the organization method of her library, and that was how Heather came to hate whoever burned down the Library of Alexandria even more than she usually, low-key did.

Apparently, some magical texts- which took up multiple scrolls- had survived the fires, but they were a sad number.

Hogwarts held _five_ of them, more than any other institution on the continent.

At any rate, the Hogwarts Library’s organization was loosely based on what they thought to be the Library of Alexandria’s structure.

There was the General Annals which was open to all students.  Then there were the special permissions sections: the Restricted Section, the Apprentice Archives, the Mastery Collection, and the Adept Chronicles.  The Restricted Section ran along the far-most right wall of the Library, as sometimes students were given permission, but the other collections could only be accessed from behind Madam Pince’s desk.

Heather had a feeling it was a bit more complicated than that, but one does not piss off the Keeper of The Archives.

That was just _stupid_.

All the sections had subsections based on a general theme and were then organized by the first letter of the author’s given name and publish date- or acquisition date, if there wasn’t a firm date of publication.  So, all the books written by Newt Scamander in the Magical Beasts and Beings section would be in the same row, presented in the order they were published.  Each book had a small report- built into the bookshelf just underneath them, where the title and author information was neatly engraved- that one could bring up with the firm tap of a wand.  Sort of like a mini-book report, really; just enough to give a person the general idea of the contents.

For extremely broad subjects Madam Pince suggested the Pinakes Registers, which were near her desk.

The Pinakes Registers were much the same as the brief description on the bookshelves, but organized in a more time-efficient manner.  A book with a needed Transfiguration chapter might well be in the Astronomy or Charms section, and so on and so forth.  So the Pinakes Registers- which were _humongous_ volumes mounted on thick wooden stands, like an podium of some sort- were much more time efficient if one had an author or particular sort of record in mind, as you could go through their descriptive tags without running all over the Library like a directionless headless chicken.

Still, Heather missed Google.

_So much._

Heather had happily endured the half-hour long lecture, taking notes along the way.

She could easily see how someone who didn’t know to ask the Librarian about how she organized her domain would be entirely lost and confused in this place.  Heather, herself, suddenly had a deep desire for Google, but she could understand the principle.

If you desire knowledge, go forth and seek it.

It seemed rather medieval and particularly prudent when dealing with young magicals.  The information was there for the taking, but only those who put in the effort and time could truly harness the power of that material.  Old Families likely held an advantage, of course, but- well, you could lead a horse to water, but you couldn’t make it drink.

Tom Riddle, as an orphan who grew up in a time of need, would likely have recognized this subtle machination as well.  Tom couldn’t have been stupidly overpowered from the outset, he had to have had another ace up his sleeve, as it were.  And in a magic castle full of interesting little nooks to explore and childish dramatics, the Library would likely not be on the op of most first Years’ list.

Then there was the organizational scheme itself.  A person could spend _days_ in this Library and only glean a tenth of a single percent of the information they were actually looking for if they didn’t understand the organizational system. 

And that most word search spells covered, at best, an entire bookshelf.  Mostly due to the protective charms woven into the books, the bookshelves, and the Library itself.  One could use a word-search on an open book with much better success, but not just as a general ‘where are the dragon books?’ from the threshold of the Magical Beasts and Beings section.

 _Sneaky_.

Heather, armed with her new knowledge, set forth into the wild uncharted waters with Sophie. “I have a plan.  A horribly dangerous plan; but a plan nonetheless!”  She quoted as they ventured onwards.

Sophie just gave her a wide-eyed, incredulous look.

**\---XXX---**

“Oh!”  Sophie exclaimed softly as she stared down at the page in wonder.  “It worked!”  She smiled up at Heather radiantly.  “Heather, I can actually _read_ this!”

Heather grinned at Sophie- the girl was adorable when she was excited- and put her wand away.  “Awesome!  We’ll have to let Professor Flitwick know!”

They had set up shop in a little quiet section near the periodicals archive and the genealogy section.  It had a square worktable and a window on the outer wall. 

It was also very quiet and undisturbed, which was a definite bonus!

Heather had stayed after Charms to ask Professor Flitwick about a charm to help Sophie and- after doing a few diagnostics on Sophie, with the girl’s permission- he had suggested that they look up a translation charm.  It loosely translated to ‘written dissonance correction’, made for those who were used to reading right-to-left instead of left-to-right, but he had found also helped ease the word-warping of reading troubles.

Heather was just happy she’d gotten the charm to work.  It had taken her four or five attempts to get the word on her paper to do as it was supposed to- as the book suggested before attempting the charm on a person- so she hadn’t been entirely confident.

The girls spent another good hour reading and taking notes before deciding to head to the Great Hall for supper.

**\---XXX---**

Heather had just about made it to the Gryffindor portrait- she and Sophie had gone back to the Library after supper- when she was intercepted by Percy Weasley, who informed her Professor McGonagall wanted to see her.

Percy escorted her- because Heather certainly had no idea where the Professor’s office was- and along the way they struck up a conversation about Hogwarts and classes and siblings.

“I’m pretty lucky because Harry’s pretty good at noticing when I need some quiet time.”  Heather said as they walked along the seventh floor.  Apparently the towers had names, and Professor McGonagall’s office was on the first floor of the Defense Tower.

Who knew?

“As a tried and true introvert, it’s actually really important to my mental health and emotional wellbeing.”  Heather continued easily after Percy helped her unstick herself from a trick step.

“Introvert?”  Percy asked, seeming interested.  “Is that a muggle term?”

“I suppose you could say that.  People who study behaviors and such on the other side created the term, but I don’t think magicals are significantly different than most humans.  I mean, people are people.  Magicals really…..they just have a wider world to explore.”  Heather mused as they turned a corner and came to yet another staircase.  “But, an introvert is…well, someone who prefers a small group of people they know well to a loud party.  Or someone who tends to get ‘stuck inside their own head’ and learns through observation- like reading or from watching other people.” Heather shrugged rather self-consciously.  “They also tend to need some, er- space?  I guess?  To sort of keep their headspace sort of…… maintained?”

“Like a well-tended garden as opposed to a field of wildflowers?”  Percy offered, seemingly interested in keeping the conversation going.

“That’s a pretty good analogy!”  Heather replied with a grin.  “Introverts tend to find ‘small talk’ tedious and prefer to discuss things their fascinated with or encourage uh, deeper discussion?” 

Percy kindly helped Heather avoid a trick stone in the middle of the hallway.

Oh, man!  She was _never_ going to be able to walk this castle by herself!

“Introverts aren’t shy, necessarily, and I can deal with a group of people a whole lot better if I have a purpose- like telling a story or relaying orders.”  Heather grinned at the red-haired Prefect.  “Extroverts, on the other hand, outnumber introverts, like, three to one and really enjoy people most of the time.  They learn best through trial and error, tend to like to talk and may not always consider their words overly carefully and do well in things like group assignments.”

They passed another landing, crossed over another short staircase, and then rounded a corner, somehow ending up near Professor McGonagall’s office.

“There can be a mixing of the traits, of course, but having the terms and general trait references sort of helps me better understand things.”  Heather shrugged and gave Percy an embarrassed grin.  “I used to get my feelings hurt a lot because I thought _everyone_ else put as much thought into their words as I did.  It took me a long time to realize that that _wasn’t_ the case-  and overthinking your words sometimes ends up being a total disaster, so I’m far from perfect!- but, I dunno…….. just knowing that my mind works a little differently than most people helped me a lot.”

Then Professor McGonagall called her name and Heather stepped inside the office.

**\---XXX---**

Professor McGonagall’s office was rather Victorian, with warm reddish woods and elegant, though rather Spartan, accents.

The floor, walls and molding were all made of the same, polished wood while the fireplace was made of the same grey stone as the ceiling.  There were a few white, plush rugs and the furniture was all white-backed, minimalist floral designs.  There were a few portraits and a couple wide, sensibly adorned windows, but most of the office seemed to be covered in small knickknacks and leather-bound books.

“Please have a seat Miss-heiress Potter.”  The Professor said, indicating one of the chairs across from her desk.

Heather smiled at the woman. “Heather is just fine, Professor.  Every time someone says ‘Potter’ I look around for Harry.”

“Heather, then.”  The Professor relented, a tension Heather hadn’t even noticed being between them fading off into nothingness.  “I called for you for two reasons,”  she continued once Heather had seated herself.  “The first being that Headmaster Dumbledore has agreed to combine your Potions classes.”  The Professor hesitated for a moment before adding, “He did show me the memory you supplied him with, and as a result, we decided that it would be best for a neutral adult to have a presence in the classroom.  Towards that end, Madam Pomfrey’s Healer-in-Training, Elspeth Talmhach- will be sitting in on your classes, ostensibly to practice her craft in an…unpredictable environment.”

Heather blinked slowly processing the information.

That was….way more than she had expected, really.

“I am relieved to hear it.”  She informed the Professor with a sigh of relief and small smile.  “I hadn’t expected the Headmaster to share the memory with anyone else, but as you are his Deputy I can entirely understand why.  Thank you.”

“Yes, well.”  The Professor shuffled some papers around and seemed to be struggling with what to say next.  “The second thing I wished to discuss was your placement in the alternate classes.”  McGonagall looked up firmly and clasped her hands together, just on top of the parchments she had been shuffling.  “I made the decision because I thought it to be in your best interest.  However, I can see that I was…..incorrect.  I cannot change your class schedule without undue complications, so I hope that you will understand.”

“Err, ok?”  Heather half-shrugged.  “Sophie’s pretty awesome and being the only two in the dorm is rather nice.  I don’t really like crowds.”  She smiled at the highly uncomfortable Professor.  “While the general consensus of how _others_ perceive the alternate classes bother me, I’d rather change their opinions based on beating the system than cause chaos and hurt feelings.”  Heather blinked a few times and tapped her lip thoughtfully.  “There was something I was gonna-oh!”  She suddenly exclaimed, diving into her satchel, making a noise of triumph as she withdrew the bright red folder.  “These are Harry and I’s immunization records, since I’m already here.”  She handed them over to the Professor and sat back down.  “And I was wondering if there were any tennis courts?  Or a room with a high ceiling we could use for a tennis court?”

Professor McGonagall quirked an eyebrow at her.  “There are, actually.  Here in the defense tower, between the armory and fencing quarters and across from the dueling rooms.  You may arrange to use any of the athletic rooms with a House Prefect.”

“Awesome!”  Heather cheered cheerfully.  “Harry and I have played since we were little and we’ve been slacking lately, so I was really hoping we wouldn’t have to start from scratch.”

“Well, if there’s nothing else Heather?”  The Professor asked, snapping the folder shut and tapping it with her wand, sending it zooming off through an obligingly opened hole in the stone ceiling.

“Nope.”  Heather chirped, bouncing to her feet and resettling her satchel.  “I do appreciate your straightforward honesty, though.  And I’ll be sure to tell Harry to keep his mouth shut.  No need to fan the flames any rumors.”

“Please see that you do.”  The Professor said with a small, approving curve of her lips.  “Goodnight.”

“’night Professor!”

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**\---XXX---**

Tuesday was another DADA class, Herbology out in the Lecturing Conservatory, which was in a small building partway between the castle and the neat double line of greenhouses, another History class, and their first Transfiguration lesson.

Assistant Professor Diggory seemed to have that book-Amos Diggory exuberance and slightly insensitive boasting problem.

Heather just sighed and resigned herself to occasional insensitive commentary by a bumbling buffoon.

He _was_ rather pretty, though.

**\---XXX---**

Heather had just arranged with Percy for the twins to have the tennis courts Saturday afternoon and she had been heading up to her dorm after another closing-time night in the Library with Sophie when Harry ambushed her.

“’feather!”  He whined as he latched onto her like a particularly humanoid barnacle.  “We stole the couch near the small fireplace and we want a story!”

She gave her brother an amused look.

“Ok, _I_ want a story.”  Harry conceded with a pout, clinging tighter.  “But they will too, once they hear how awesome your stories are!  And you can’t spend all night, every night in the Library!  We have board games!  And Exploding Snap and Gobstones and stuff!”

“I’m trying to gather information to make flash cards to help us learn the foundations for each of the magical disciplines.  I have to work for that information, kiddo, it isn’t exactly easy to find.”  Heather pointed out reasonably, never above helping con Harry into helping her.  “If you want stories and game nights, you’ll need to help.”

“Fine.” Harry wilted dramatically, still not letting go of her.  “An hour and a half after classes, every day.  Homework takes like, half an hour, tops.  So that’s only the time before dinner, really.”

“Fair enough.”  Heather agreed with a grin, reaching out to ruffle his hair fondly.  “Let Sophie and I go and change and then I’ll be back down, ok?”

“Ok!”  Harry said, letting go of her and pushing her towards the girls’ dorm.  “Gogogo!”

“Pushy.”  Heather grumbled good-naturedly as she walked slower just to irritate her brother a little.

**\---XXX---**

When she came back down with Sophie, there were a surprising number of people crowded around the couch Harry had commandeered, but he waved her over excitedly, so she slipped between bodies and settled herself with her back to the fireplace.  She tugged Sophie down beside her. 

Harry and the boys from the dorm were around the overstuffed couch, while others she didn’t know took the two loveseats that made up the little nook though there were plenty of other people sitting on the plush carpeting.

It was also really amusing to see how popular Mallie was- the golden dog had a whole group of people who were taking turns petting her as she roamed from lap to lap.

“Ok!”  Heather chirped excitedly, shifting a bit as Chromie climbed into her lap and made herself comfortable and the other kids settled down to a dull roar.  “Did you decide on a story, Har-bear?”

 “Well sort of.”  Harry said from his position on the couch between Ron and Dean.  “We can’t decide between the one about Gaia or the Azeroth ones.”

“Well, the Gaia one is much shorter.”  Heather mused as she pet Chromie and shifted a little further away from the fire.  “So we’ll start with that.”

“Sounds good.”  Harry agreed amiably, super excited.

Heather opened her mouth-

“Wait!”  Harry cried out suddenly, cutting her off unexpectedly and drawing all the attention to himself.  “We gotta turn down the lights!”

There was some grumbling, but a surprising number of people were in agreement- though others just scoffed at such a ‘babyish’ request- so Percy amiably turned down the lighting for their section of the common room.

“Gather round, children, and listen well, for tonight I tell you the story of a champions, villains, and the avaricious men who twisted the pure children of Gaia into _monsters_ …..”  Heather began, slightly amused at how spellbound even the ‘coolest’ kids seemed to be by her crappy introduction.

Nearly an hour later, the group had doubled in size and Percy had taken it upon himself to silence whoever tried to interrupt just to be rude.

“….but that is best left to another time.”  Heather stated teasingly as she stopped for the night.

There were groans.

“You simply _can’t_ leave it _there_!”  More than a few people cried in dismay. 

“I’ll continue on….”  Heather paused for a moment as she remembered that she had Astronomy at the asscrack of midnight on Wednesday- well, Thursday technically.  “Friday.”  She decided confidently, much to the disappointment of many.

“Hey, take it or leave it.”  Harry said firmly, standing up and glaring at the loudest complainers.  “Heather-feather doesn’t _have_ to share her stories and she’s only doing it because I asked her to.”

“Correct.”  Percy agreed decisively.  “If I hear any of you badgering Heather I will deduct points.”  He pushed his horned glasses up his nose primly.  “Is that clear?”

The group dispersed after that, leaving Heather to say goodnight to Harry and trudge back up to her dorm.

She had letters to write.

**\---XXX---**

By the time Heather finished her letter writing Sophie had fallen asleep- in her own bed- and Heather’s eyes were gritty and irritated.

Bixbite’s letter was mostly about requesting the finalists for the construction firms and their estimated repair costs and timetables, as well as asking how the market research into the Alley’s fresh produce, ingredients, and animal byproducts data for the past fifteen years was coming along.  Bixbites had been working on it all, but Heather had run out of time to get back with her Manager about all of it.

Heather had a sneaky suspicion she was going to need housing ready and able.  Soon-ish.

She sighed and grabbed Bixbite’s letter, unrolling it and adding a post-script inquiring after the Dursley situation.

 _Dammit_.

Then there was a letter to the Montforts asking after the legality of her using some of the ‘bequeathment funds’- they made her and Harry feel a bit uneasy to just add into the Potter Vaults, to be honest- to buy new brooms for the school, because their upcoming Flying lessons suddenly loomed like a badass Boss fight in super crappy gear.  The first one was next Thursday and Heather was keen on not falling to her second death anytime soon. She’d also not-so-subtly asked if they would like a summer intern-slash- research lackey and whether they needed assistants yet- and if they did to let Bixbite know so the background checks could be properly begun and ads put in the _Prophet_.

Also, she’d asked them for specifics on acquiring dependents, because she certainly wasn’t going to let Sophie fend for herself.  Her intuition was rarely wrong when it truly acted up and Assistant Professor Yaxley tripped her creeper alarm.

 _Bigly_.

After asking for copies Liv’s Hogwarts notes, Liv had been asked to research the ‘alternate’ class student and their job prospects; things like graduation data, and the general public consensus of those students.  Heather had met two- Slytherins- in her classes who had ‘uneven magic conveyance’ due to relatives trying to scare accidental magic out of them.  If Britain didn’t have some awesome programs to help these functional, though slightly performance impaired, students Heather would have Liv contact Connie or Mr. Leif.

 _Actually_.

Heather resealed Bixbite’s letter and added a postscript to Liv’s letter about contacting the two ICW agents on her behalf if the information Heather requested was as bad as she feared it would be.

Fight the system!  Fight it!

Aunt Cassie had gotten one with all the specifics and details of Heather’s meeting with the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall with a request for advice.  Heather had also, rather vindictively, informed Aunt Cassie of Heather’s encounters with Draco Malfoy. 

The boy was a menace who literally had _no concept_ of his actions having consequences.

Grandfather had been informed of her class status and her current plan to destroy the system because it seemed ill-advised and inefficient to her.  She outlined a rough plan and informed him of her intent to seek more information.

But she also outlined her reasons as to why she felt she needed to stay in the classes.

Dora had gotten a sadly short letter, but it was nearing eleven and Heather was exhausted.

“Tansy.”  She whispered, smiling at the sleepy little House Elf when she arrived with a quiet pop.  “Sorry to wake you, dear.  Would you mind-?”

Tansy and snapped her fingers, causing the neatly piled letters to disappear.  “Tansy will.  Rest, Mistress.”

Then she left as easily as she had come.

Heather whispered her thanks and crawled into bed, setting her watch’s alarm.

_‘Aunt Cassie gives the coolest gifts.’_

**\---XXX---**

Friday afternoons were free after a rather uncomfortable double-the-fun Potions period. 

Given the new changed circumstances, Snape had been super grouchy and caustic.  Though to the class as a whole not Harry or her directly and Apprentice Healer Talmhach had prevented a few accidents from occurring, which had just made the Professor even more sour.

At any rate, Heather kidnapped Harry as they left the Great Hall after lunch.

Sort of.

It had started at lunch, after Heather had spent an adequate amount of time bemoaning her existence with Harry- much to the amusement of everyone else- and everyone began discussing their plans for the weekend.

Dean and Seamus had decided that they were going to go explore the grounds, as the sun was actually shining.  Ron and Sophie had been up for anything and Heather hadn’t wanted to go to the Library just yet.

She’d closed it down every day that week and she just couldn’t quite bring herself to go back just yet.

For every standard principle she found, three exceptions popped up.  These exceptions required her to make a trip to the Pinakes Registers.  In just about each scenario she discovered about six new books- each from separate friggin’ sections- to hunt down.  Then once she’d read and taken meticulous notes from those books, the cycle usually began again.

Heather was a fast reader, but reading books that were likely hand-written and therefore subject to terrible penmanship were not nearly as simple as reading neatly typed script.  And she had half-filled a thick, acid-free parchment sketchbook for each core class, save History and Astronomy.

Her head ached and she just….couldn’t return to the grind just yet.

Also, even class with a somewhat restrained Snape was migraine inducing.  She had no idea how book-Harry had dealt with the raging ball of animosity.

And Heather usually tried to see the best in people!  She’d successfully negotiated with Vernon and Petunia Dursley!

So, kidnapping Harry.

And, well, Heather had things she wanted to discuss with a certain someone here at Hogwarts.  The papers had been in her satchel for nearly a fortnight now and she was eager to move forward with her plans.

“Actually, guys, wait for me a moment.”  Heather said abruptly as they were headed for the wide, open doors of the castle.  Close enough to feel the warm fall sunshine and inhale the scent of freshly turned earth.  “I’ll be right back!”

Heather darted over to the doors of the Great Hall before anyone could protest.

“Fred, George?  A moment?”  She asked politely of the identical twins.

The twins seemed surprised- she really hadn’t spoken to them- but they shrugged good-naturedly.

“Sure-“  Twin one began with a mischievous grin.

“-little Lady Potter!”  Twin two finished with an exaggerated bow.

Heather’s cheeks pinked a bit. 

Maybe she’d been ever so slightly smug about putting Pansy Parkinson in her place when the Slytherin girl had tried to order Sophie around like some sort of particularly stupid servant.

“Cram it.”  Heather told them embarrassedly, pulling them over into a standard, empty room near the Hall.  “Silencing spell?”

Twin one raised an eyebrow but dutifully raised his wand and cast something.  “You’ve-“

“-definitely piqued-“

“our interest.”

“I must be quick.”  Heather began looking down at her nails.  “So I’ll be brief.  You have, in your possession, a Map that belonged to my father and his friends, who called themselves the Marauders.”  Heather waved off their attempts to protest.  “I don’t care, really.  What I do care about is Sirius- Padfoot.”  Heather finally lifted her head and gave them a stern glare.  “I won’t say anything- though I hope you’ll pass it to Harry before he you leave school for good- but what I would like is for you to write letters to Padfoot.”  Heather sighed softly, readjusting her bag.  “He’s got a long road to go, you know?  To recover from Azkaban.  So I think it would be really helpful for you to write him about your antics, it might remind him of the good times with his friends before the war and then his imprisonment.”  Heather shrugged, suddenly mush less sure of her plan.  “He might even have some pointers for you as he gets better?”  She offered awkwardly.

When they fell to their knees and began to chant ‘we’re not worthy’ she put her hands on her hips and glared at them in embarrassed amusement.  “Yeah, whatever.  I’ll take that as a yes.  We’re trying to send letters twice a week.”

Then she got the hell out.

“What was that about?”  Ron asked once she made it back over to the group, who had been loitering by the door and waiting for her. 

“I invited them to write to one of their mischief forefathers.”  Heather drawled dryly, linking arms with Sophie and Neville- she’d basically abducted the poor, shy boy when he’d not immediately said ‘no’ to accompanying them- and marching out the open doors.  “They were rather dramatic about it.”

She and Harry shared a glance around Ron and Sophie- who were between them- and he nodded in satisfaction.  “Brill.  Sirius needs some reminders of happy times that aren’t directly from us.”

Everyone else seemed rather clueless, but let it go.

As they walked over the still-green, gently rolling hills and occasional battlements or open-air structures, they fell into easy conversation about things like classes, teachers, Heather’s stories, and other mostly pleasant things.

Hagrid’s hut was just as warm, rough, and homey as Heather had always imagined.  With its roughhewn boards and scattered bits of animal medicines, tiny healing critters in sensibly large cages, and Fang, the dog.

Mallie had trotted up like she had some sort of internal Harry-finder when they were most of the way there, and watching her poke the excitable Fang with her nose and wrap him up in some sort of mom-dog-hug was _adorable_.

Hagrid had been nearly as pleased to have human visitors as he was to see Mallie.

Harry and the others hadn’t even thought to question Heather’s sudden desire to visit the groundskeeper once Hagrid started cooing over Mallie and excitably discussing animals, plants, the grounds, and just about everything else that went with those things. 

Neville was visibly moved to learn that his mum apparently used to help Hagrid collect Dewdrops- moonflowers that grew in grassy clearings saturated with Unicorn magic- pretty much every night of the New Moon from Third Year to her graduation.  Ron got a few good stories about his eldest brothers while Harry and Heather were gifted with the knowledge that Lily Potter liked to climb a particular tree just inside the forest and read when she grew tired of the commotion of the castle.

Hagrid’s tree stump table- it literally seemed as if the hut had been built around the stump of a particularly thick tree- was rather tall and his rock cakes seemed like rocks with some sort of sugar coating, but it was a pleasant way to spend the afternoon, chattering and laughing and cooing over the wounded Piffertuft- it was so fluffy!- and the dogs.

When the bells tolled signaling the end of the school day, they decided to head back to the castle.

“You guys go on, save me a seat, I’ll catch up!”  Heather assured them with a smile, secretly excited to get things moving forward.

Harry gave her a ‘we shall need to talk soon’ look, but obligingly herded everyone out of the hut and towards the castle.

“Hagrid.”  Heather began, standing near the table and smiling kindly at the gentle giant.  “I don’t wish to bring up unpleasant memories, but- just hear me out, ok?”

Hagrid nodded, a bit warily.

“I was doing some research on my Family properties after I was named heiress, and a great deal of them are overgrown. And some of them desperately need to be put back into balance as the animals have run amok, which isn’t good for them or me.”  Heather said quickly, her palms beginning to sweat.

Had the hut been this hot the whole time?

“Towards that end I had my assistant-“ ‘ _because I know that you are a gentle man and one of the first victims of Tom Riddle’_ “-research the best people for the job.”  Heather tried to ratchet up the amount of kindness in her expression.  “And your name came up-“  Heather held up a hand to quiet the man’s protests, she seemed to be doing that a lot today.  “-and then I had my Counsel look into you Expulsion.”

Hagrid looked so sad!  That wasn’t what she wanted!

Heather flipped open her satchel and pulled a thick sheaf of papers from the secret compartment keyed to her Heir ring.  “Given the testimony gathered from former students who have nothing but praise for your expertise and what my Counsel found from the sham of a Ministry Order you were given, we came up with a plan.”  Heather pushed the packet towards Hagrid and smiled at him.  “While the case cannot be reopened in the respect of Hogwarts, it can be reopened on the basis of House Potter requesting an actual trial for a prospective employee.”  She fiddled with the straps of her satchel, Hagrid had been still and silent as a stone gargoyle since she’d mentioned his expulsion.  “There would be at least a seven-year contract for you to work for us, but my Counsel is extremely confident that your wand rights would be reinstated, and that your life’s work here at Hogwarts could earn you a Mastery, give or take some Mastery classes, that the House of Potter would fund, as is our prerogative.”

Heather was sort of worried, Hagrid seemed kind of upset.

“You don’t have to, of course, and the Headmaster would be an excellent second opinion, as a testimony from him would strengthen our already firm case.”  She blurted out anxiously, shifting from side to side a bit.  “And the employment contract is for the summer and negotiable.” 

Heather felt entirely like as stupid idiot and wanted to leave the suddenly over-warm and stifling hut pronto.

“Just….consider it, alright?”  She finished, bowing lightly for some absurd reason, and then darting outside.

‘ _Why do my plans never work the way I want them to?’_   She mentally griped as she hurried over the grassy hills.  ‘ _I’m a grown ass woman, at least in mind!  Shouldn’t I be better at this sort of thing?’_

**\---XXX---**

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Friday night Heather went to continue her storytelling, amused and more than a little appreciative for Dean’s art skills.

Apparently the boys in the First Year dorm had been staying up way past their bedtime and theorizing about the next leg of the story.  Harry had refused to let any spoilers slip, but he had had some input on Dean’s sketches and that had translated into the boys trying to bring the monsters of the story to life.

Some help from Percy and-or the Weasley twins and the sketches _moved_.

The original Final Fantasy VII story had evolved over the long years she’d spent telling it, so it was a bit longer and all her favorite characters actually got to live.

Mwahahaha!

The next few years of the story she was now in were a little fuzzy around the edges, but she had purposefully kept the most important parts fresh in her mind, written down over and over onto scraps of paper and notebooks.  Names and dates were changed- at least to the casual observer- but her notes were written in such a way that she would remember.

Hopefully.

She’d changed a whole bunch of things already, so a lot of it was rather useless.

Meh. 

Life wasn’t meant to have more than a loose outline- with room for plenty of changes and unexpected circumstances anyways.

That didn’t mean that Heather felt anything other than smug at cutting off her nights’ worth of storytelling on a cliffhanger, though.

**\---XXX---**

Saturday Heather unrepentantly slept in……

….until her _brat_ of a brother sent Mallie up to wake her.

Mallie, as a Gryffindor animal, was allowed passage through the various nooks and crannies in the tower.  According to Percy- Heather’s resident information source, since she didn’t like _any_ of the girl Prefects- the castle and Gryffindor pet passages recognized Mallie as a Gryffindor student’s pet and expanded to accommodate her. 

It was just Heather’s luck that Mallie was smart enough to understand Harry’s, “Go wake up ‘feather, girl!”

Chromie didn’t even bother to get up, the brat.  The gold cat- she was getting a bit too big for her little buddy pockets sadly- staggered to her paws and burrowed beneath heather’s mussed covers while Mallie happily tried to smother Heather in good morning doggy kisses.

So instead of her intended noon rising, Heather was unhappily wide awake at eight-thirty.

She was going to let Sophie sleep, but once Mallie was sure she’d woken Heather up, the friendly dog had bounded over to Sophie’s bed.

Both girls growled at Harry and his motley crew when they reached the common room, but as Harry was the one with clever hair-braiding fingers they forgave him far sooner than they had planned.

Heather still sulked at the way down to the Great Hall.

**\---XXX---**

Percy showed them to the indoor tennis courts around nine.

The room had an impossibly high ceiling and a set of well-maintained courts.  At the very back were three batting cages- well, that was what Heather called them- and some stone bleachers seemingly built into the lengthwise walls.  There were changing rooms, too.

“Ladies changing room is to the right, while the gentlemen are just past the practice cages.”  Percy informed them importantly.  “This room isn’t in high demand, so I’ve taken the liberty of booking it for you every Saturday until the end of term.  Heather or Harry just needs to tap their wand to the doorknob and you’ll be allowed in.”  Percy gave the twins a firm look.  “Only invite in those you wish to socialize with.  You set the permissions as the ‘holders’ of the room.”

“Thank you, Percy.”  Heather said warmly, inordinately fond of the quiet, studious teen.  “We’ll not abuse your trust.”

“Yeah, thanks Percy!”  Harry called out with a wide grin, nearly bouncing on his toes, tennis bag slung over his shoulder.

Percy sniffed and straightened his robes a bit haughtily, but seemed inordinately pleased.  “Yes, well.  I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Then he quickly left.

“You know.”  Ron said after Percy had shut the door behind him.  “If you hadn’t mentioned anything ‘bout it, I never would’ve noticed how he’s not really being a jerk about knowing stuff.”  Ron shrugged uncomfortably when all eyes turned to him.  “I mean, it’s still sort of annoying, but I guess it just doesn’t make me as mad as it used to?”

Harry just grinned and clapped Ron on the shoulder good-naturedly.  “’feather’s good at that sort of thing.”  Was all he said before he hefted his tennis bag a bit higher and moved towards the changing rooms.  “And now- to show you the wonders of tennis!”

“If you say so, mate.”  Ron said doubtfully.

**\---XXX---**

The changing room was fairly large, with the loo stalls doubling as changing stations.  There were also a few shower stalls as well and a row of sinks with large, neatly etched mirrors.

Heather greatly appreciated the privacy of the sealed stalls and the perfectly quiet mirrors.

It didn’t take long for Heather to stuff Sophie into some spare athletic clothes while she changed into her usual t-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes.

Trainers.

_Whatever._

When they emerged from the changing rooms, they found the boys tumbling out of their changing rooms as well.  Dean, Seamus, and harry had their own athletic wear while Ron and Neville had been kitted out in some mishmash spare sports clothes from the other three.

The two wizarding born students were wearing what appeared to be leather ankle boots, which Heather wasn’t entirely sure would be comfortable for them to run in. 

Then again, _magic_.

Heather and Harry showed the others how to stretch properly.

“Merlin, you’re trying to _kill me_.”  Ron groaned after the first ten minutes.  “You’ll have to deal with mum when I keel over and _die_.”

Heather would have laughed at him, but she’d gotten pretty out of shape in the last couple months, and while she’d kept up on some of her stretches she was most certainly not looking forward to the laps.

**\---XXX---**

Seamus and Dean formed one team while Harry and Heather formed another.  They were going to do an exhibition match so that Neville and Ron could sort of get a better idea of how the game was played.

They were going to self-ref this match, as Sophie didn’t really know the rules all that better than the two wizard-born.

Ron, Neville, and Sophie were pretty much collapsed out on the bleachers. 

Heather didn’t blame them.  Harry was a _taskmaster_ when it came to laps, as he had gone to the school of Coach ‘if-you-can-yak-you-can-lap’ Rachel.  He was kind enough to only run them through the usual first year tennis player warm-ups.

They’d properly cooled down of course!

“’Kay, so we’ll play this game and then decide where to go from there.”  Harry said as he bounced the little yellow tennis ball a few times.  “We’ve only got the four rackets, so we’ll have to take turns.”

“If everyone shows interest, I’ll have Liv send our spares and more tennis balls.”  Heather added, exchanging a _look_ with Harry. 

“Right-o!”  Harry agreed, tossing his ball up in the air and eyeing it critically before he nodded decisively.  “Then, one-love!”

And the game was on.

It took the twins a few tries to get back into the flow of the game, but Dean and Seamus were rather weak opponents, and soon the other two called it off in favor of watching Harry and Heather play against each other.

“Sorry, guys.”  Dean said rather sheepishly.  “More of a football player myself.”

“It’s fine!”  Harry assured them with an easy grin.  “But if it looks interesting we can all practice together!  Give it a few months and we can play round-robin matches!”

Suddenly Heather’s sleep alarm triggered as she felt the sneaking suspicion that her mornings were going to get busier.

 _Dammit_.

**\---XXX---**

Heather had forgotten how much fun it was to play against Harry.

While she was a doubles player at heart, playing against her brother was always thrilling.  They knew each other inside and out and that made trying to trick the other out or feign moves _hilarious_. 

Still, it was _exhilarating_.

It wasn’t until they were sweat-drenched, grinning from ear to ear, clasping hands over the net at the end of their second match that Heather was nearly bowled over by a wave of nostalgia.

Because for as much as she needed to learn and do and _get moving_ , these sorts of days with her brother were numbered.  He was growing up _so fast_ , and soon he’d be branching out on his own, forging his own path. 

She’d always be his sister, of course, but she wouldn’t be his best and only friend.  And no matter how much the idea of being left behind scared her, she refused to be a petty, shitty individual and sabotage his new friendships.

Heather was fiercely _proud_ of Harry despite her own insecurities, and no matter how loudly her internal darkness tried to torment her with the idea that she’d soon be left all alone she refused to give in.  Refused to give the idea purchase in her thoughts and actions.

She’d never understood how kindness could be mistaken for weakness.  Kindness was a conscious, continuous choice to not allow the darkness of the world to win and dictate a person’s actions.  It was a choice made with every reconsidered phrase, every small act of thoughtfulness that was a little inconvenient but done anyways, every time someone listened instead of exploded with rage.

At the end of the day, a person who walked in kindness was also a fighter.  A blooded warrior.  A phoenix rebirthed from the ashes of despair and loneliness and the merciless forge of time. 

To discount that- to push beyond the boundaries of compassion and empathy- was the very height of folly.

At least, she’d read something like that somewhere along the way.

_‘Take no shit, but do no needless harm.’_

Whether from her interference or not, this time around the First Year boys were already fairly close-knit, even if they all had separate interests.  Harry roped Neville into joining him and Ron when they went exploring and they did a nightly head count to make sure they were all in before they turned off the lights.

They had small tiffs and argued over what to do about Ron’s snoring, but Harry had unknowingly taken on the role of their leader.  And it was readily apparent that there was a sort of easy camaraderie among them that belied their little spats over dirty socks or mostly good-natured teasing.

As she shook her brother’s hand and everyone else came running over, chattering excitably, Heather wondered if her current situation could be described as a mid-life crisis or if it was just yet another existential one.

**\---XXX---**

Sophie came into their dorm room, a pensive look on her face.

“What’s up?”  Heather asked her roommate from her place at her desk, going over letter responses and writing responses of her own.

Whenever Chromie felt like getting off her parchment, where the little blonde menace was currently sprawled out grooming herself.

Sophie flopped down onto her bed, kicking her feet up in the air and laying her head down on her crossed arms.  “The girls in the gold dorm are all fighting.  _Again_.”  She reported sourly.  “Sally-Anne told me that Granger made a comment to our Patil this morning and now the dorm is basically a war zone.”  Sophie bit her lip anxiously.  “Sally-Anne was wondering if she could stay with us tonight?  She said that she’d already received a warning for sleeping in the common room by two of the female Prefects.”  Sophie looked down at her covers and added softly, “I feel sort of bad for her, you know?  Having to sleep in the same room when the other three are fighting.  It bothers her a lot and she doesn’t sleep very well.”

Heather sighed, slipped her glasses off, and covered her face with her hands.  “We’ve been here _seven_ _days_.”  She pointed out wearily.  “ _Seven_.”

“Yeah, well, they’re all pretty opinionated, according to Sally-Anne.”  Sophie put in somewhat hesitantly.  “Patil and Brown have been friends for years and Granger is sort of…..uhhh……”

“She’s socially awkward and driven.”  Heather moaned dramatically, laying her head on Chromie- who wrapped her paws around Heather’s head and began to groom Heather’s hair.  “Likely an only child and lonely, but kind of angry about such weakness.  Determined to make her mark on the world and fiercely intelligent, but rather lacking in picking up social cues and subtleties.”  Chromie started chewing on Heather’s braid, so Heather disentangled herself from her bratty feline and leaned back in her chair.

 _Resignedly_.

“Hermione lives in a world of rules and absolutes.”  Heather explained to Sophie as Chromie hopped down from the desk and claimed Heather’s lap.  “Navigating casual conversation is stressful and frustrating to her because people are all different and tend to go off-script.”  Heather let her hands wander over Chromie’s soft fur and delved into her thoughts. 

Before-her had had a _terrible_ time as a child.  Mostly the immediate years after her biological mother died to her mid-teens, but the situation with Hermione still dredged up unpleasant memories. 

Before-her had been more mature than her peers in terms of responsibility or academics, as well.  But the unspoken, flexible rules of interpersonal communication had been a brick wall of doom, a wall that she hadn’t been able to scale through sheer willpower and determination.  It didn’t help that it took Before-her a _very_ long time to understand that not everyone spent as much time and energy considering their words as Before-her did- and well, sometimes that hadn’t ended well either.  There were several incidents that persisted at the back of her mind even to this day.

Writing out her thoughts was _so much less_ stressful. 

Of course, it had taken her until adulthood to fully grasp how freeing writing could be.  Before-her’s mother had a habit of going through every inch of her room while she was at school or helping Before-her’s great-grandparents and the few journal entries Before-her had tried to keep were dragged out of their safe little place and turned into harrowing lectures or angry diatribes.

Her first childhood had been rather abnormal, too.  Now that she really thought about it.

Meh.

 _Whatever_.

Eh, it could have been a lot worse.  And she’d loved her family, even if they hadn’t always known how to deal with her.  Before-her’s biological mother had died young- asphyxiation- and she’d been adopted by her bio-mother’s brother and his wife.  Looking back, they’d both been incredibly young to inherit a grieving six-year-old, on top of their own newborn baby who had spent his first six months in neonatal intensive care.

She’d forgiven them a long time ago, but it didn’t make the elicited memories any less annoying or upsetting.

What all or any of that mental dialogue meant was that Heather could see flashes of Before-her in Hermione’s behavior and it made her _cringe_.  She’d done her best to forget that phase of her Before-life even when it’d still been Before!  So having it brought up and forcing her to think about all of her social fails until she managed to get a grip on herself and her conversation skills was….aggravating.

Heather-

(- _flashes of all her classmates shunning her for what she had honestly thought had been a sincere compliment; her teacher’s angry face when she dared to disagree with the party line in history; being forced to explain her innermost thoughts to her furious, manic mother and quietly exhausted father in the middle of the night after she’d been literally dragged out of bed and had her diary thrust in her face; staying quiet in the face of screamed accusations because she didn’t know how to respond-_ )

Heather _couldn’t_ do this. 

She could battle many things, but the dark parts of Before-her’s childhood weren’t exactly good for her to dwell on.  And she knew herself and her mind and these memories had tagged along _beyond_ _her_ _death_ and she just couldn’t wade through a situation like this right now.  She was already stressed and off-kilter and rather overwhelmed and-

And-

_That was okay._

Heather took a deep breath.

So, she couldn’t directly deal with the situation at the moment but she still wanted to help the girls, that much was certain.

_‘What do you know for sure, Heather?’_

Heather took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind of all the rambling trails of self-recriminations and put her dark memories back where they belonged.  She’d grown up and beyond that time in her life and those memories _couldn’t_ hurt her anymore!

_‘No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.’_

She was stronger than this!  The last thing she needed right now was to trip and fall into a slick of depression.  Those things _sucked_.  They were like a tar pit, all sticky and gooey and nearly impossible to climb back out of-

_‘The greatest lie perpetuated by society is that other women are your enemy.’_

Heather paused and ran that thought through her mind a few more times.

Slowly her lips curved into a grin and Chromie- likely sensing the change in Heather’s mood- tossed her tail haughtily and hopped over onto Heather’s bed.

“I-”  Heather exclaimed springing to her feet and rooting around for the supplies she wanted.  “-have an _idea_!”

**\---XXX---**

Heather marched into the gold dorm as if she owned the place, a bemused Sophie and Sally-Anne trailing after her.

She ignored the exclamations of dismay when she entered and nodded thankfully at Sophie and Sally-Anne, who took up their assigned positions near the door.

“It has come to my attention-“  Heather said in her best approximation of Coach’s voice when Coach had had _enough_.  “-that this dorm is riddled with strife.”

Lavender and Parvati were sitting cross-legged on the bed closest to the door on the left side, while Hermione was standing near her desk, the one nearest the loo on the right side of the room.

Heather was rather amused to note that the gold dorm didn’t have the same amount of windows as the red one, and overall it seemed more cluttered and cramped than the room she shared with Sophie.

Privately, Heather’s inner introvert preferred the red dorm.

Heather tossed her satchel onto the nearest desk and crossed her arms as she stared down her audience.  “No- _shut it and listen_!”  She took a deep, calming breath and continued in a calmer voice.  “I get that you all have different personalities- I _get_ that.  I also get that people sometimes are just plainly, fundamentally different- and that’s just fine.  There’s _nothing wrong with that_.”  Heather smiled as kindly as she could manage.  “However, I feel that you’re all forgetting something important: we’re all in this together.”

No one said anything in the silence that followed that statement.

Heather uncrossed her arms and clasped them behind her back, beginning to pace.  “The girl Prefects are essentially useless- far too caught up in their own drama and lives to care about us ickle little First Years.”  Heather said that last part with no small amount of bitterness.  _‘Try being in the alternate classes and asking them a question.  Until I was outed as Heiress they would just laugh and walk away, now they’re just annoying.’_   “So we Gryffindor First Year girls are on our own.  We have to fight for information and other things that the Prefects should be helping us with.”

Granger sniffed a bit derisively.  “I hardly see how it concerns you.  You’re not even in-“

“Granger.”  Heather cut her off with all the patience she could spare, gritting her teeth and pausing in her pacing.  “I get that your pride is wounded and you’re in a difficult situation but _please do not_ continue that statement.  The alternate class system is _broken_ and a wildly inaccurate way by which to judge a person’s academic worth.”

 _‘She’s just lashing out.  She’s scared and far outside of her comfort zone.  Be patient._ ’  Heather told herself firmly as she shoved aside her rather hostile feelings about the alternate class system.  ‘ _She chose Gryffindor because she wants to learn how to fight with her heart as well as her mind.’_

“As I was saying- we’re all we’ve got.”  Heather continued once she felt calm and rational.  “We might not ever all get along flawlessly.  And you know what?  _That’s okay_.”  Heather smiled brightly. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t be family.  That we can’t form a sisterhood and lay down some rules that help us not trip all over each other all the time.”  She shook her head and held up a hand to forestall protests.  “We’re here for ten months out of twelve, guys.  For the next _seven years_.  We’re going to have major tests- like our OWLs- and all the growing pains of finding ourselves to go through- wouldn’t it be nice to know that your fellow girls have your back, even if you don’t always get along?”  Heather gestured towards the ceiling.  “The greatest lie perpetuated by society is that other girls are the enemy.  We might not all be best friends, but why can’t we be supportive and respectful of each other?”

“I don’t get along with my oldest sister, Orchid, but she’s the first person I turn to when I’m in trouble.”  Lavender offered tentatively after she and Parvati shared a glance.

“Precisely.”  Heather replied with no small amount of satisfaction.  “Harry and I are twins, so that’s a little different, I think, but I guarantee you that if I saw Granger being harassed by a gaggle of jerks, I’d unleash all of my basic spell theory fury on her attackers.”  Heather shook her fist for emphasis.

The other girls all laughed and some of the steeped tension broke, allowing Heather to breathe a little easier.  “Look- let’s just try it for this term, ok?  Once a fortnight sleepovers to come together and keep the peace and have some fun.”  Heather grinned a little easier.  “I even have some stashed chocolate and- well, nonmagical, beauty supplies.  I haven’t really delved into the magical ones just yet.  We can spend a night pampering each other and bitching about things we don’t like after we sew up any issues that have cropped up.”  Heather smiled at Hermione, who looked deeply conflicted.  “Think of it as creative brainstorming.  We’ll all share ideas and discoveries and- hey, we could write them down!  Make a secret Gryffindor First Year handbook of all the things we wished we’d have known to give to next year’s firsties.”

“Oooh!”  Lavender exclaimed excitedly, bouncing a bit on her bed and jostling Parvati.  “My Auntie Wisteria is a Spellcrafter!  She says she gets some of her _best_ spell ideas when she’s relaxing and recharging!”  Lavender grinned a little brighter.  “And I can get some samples from my mum- she’s the Editor-in-Chief of Witch Weekly- so we can introduce you to magical cosmetics!”

“See?”  Heather replied agreeably.  “There’s something to be said for rest and rejuvenation.  And we’d get to exchange some cross-cultural ideas and stuff.”  Heather pointed at Lavender.  “You there!  What do you want to do when you grow up?”

“I want to be a reporter for Witch Weekly with Parvati!”  Lavender answered excitedly.  “So I can travel all over the world and learn about how fashion and cosmetics fit in to people’s daily lives!”

“My _Pitaji’s_ family owns a great deal of land back home in _Bharatavarsha_.”  Parvati offered after shooting Hermione a rather dark look.  “They primarily tend to the various animals and flora that make different types of silk, especially magical silks.  My _Ma’s_ family is from the same area and  mostly deals with raw materials.  Her Family are renowned jewelry makers.  _Pitaji_ was chosen to manage the European branch of the Family interests.”  Parvati grinned proudly and linked arms with Lavender.  “I want to show the world that artistry with- fabric or jewelry- is just as important as other jobs- like Potion making.”

“Perfectly fine goals.”  Heather replied before Hermione could derail her progress _.  ‘She’s a driven academic who feels threatened by what she doesn’t yet understand.’_   Heather bounced a bit on her toes and beamed at Hermione.  “And, really, Granger.  When you become Minister for Magic someday you’ll at least know that those two-“  She pointed at Parvati and Lavender with a grin.  “-will make sure _Witch Weekly_ shows all your _best_ profiles because your sisters have your back.  _And_ you’ll have some trustworthy sources concerning trade goods, import-exports, and such.”

Lavender grinned wider and squealed a bit.  “Brilliant!  We would, too!” 

Beside her, Parvati smiled softly.

From there it was fairly simple to get everyone on board and assign them a task. 

Sally-Anne was the keeper of grievances- the ones they all needed to discuss together, Sophie the mediator- as she lived with Heather and was a bit removed from any dorm squabbles; Lavender was their information specialist; Parvati was their networker; Hermione their scribe; and Heather was dubbed the supplier of chocolate and founder.

They managed to work through the latest incident- Hermione liked to get up extra early to work on assignments and Parvati used that time to observe Family morning rituals that were to be conducted before sunrise and her morning meal.  Lavender had her own Family things to do in the mornings, and they usually used the empty space that happened to be across from Hermione’s desk.

Heather suggested that Hermione move her morning work to the red dorm, as the other girl had explained that she _would_ use the desks in the common room- as the other two girls had advocated, if a bit rudely- but they were usually reserved magically, like the rooms on the Crimson Level.

It was a rather simple matter once all the facts had been presented, but there had been a lot of miscommunication and hurt feelings to wade through.

By the time Heather made it back to the red dorm with Sophie, it was after midnight and she was _exhausted_.

Tennis all day and then this adventure.

What happened to her boring, predictable schedule?

Ah, well.  At least she’d brokered some peace for the gold dorm and had a standing, fortnightly Saturday night date with her new ‘sisters’.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Filius had high hopes for this crop of new First Years!

Lily’s daughter was very much her mother’s child.  Charms prodigies tended to take a bit longer to fully show, but if the girl’s adaptive and intelligent homework was any indication, it was only a matter of time.

And the way she was thoroughly enjoying thumbing her nose at the system-both institutional and social- was positively delightful!

Truthfully Filius had never understood the ‘alternate’ system.  Or, rather, its implementation.

Hufflepuff did just fine without it, and it was only tradition and his mixed heritage that prevented him from following suit with Ravenclaw.  The Stoneblood Nation would raise hell if his pay was cut- and rather understandably, considering the history there- but his mixed heritage also prevented him from getting the majority vote he needed with the Board of Governors to increase his ‘department’ budget.

Politics, the Board, and the Headmaster’s distractedness was rather frustrating.  Well, Albus and Minerva were both being stretched in far too many directions to be truly effective.

Albus had essentially tripped into his two extracurricular positions and was reluctant to leave his possible replacements to the likes of men such as Lucius Malfoy or more correctly, Lucius Malfoy’s scheming.  The man had murdered his own kin in cold blood for power!

And, to some extent, Filius understood their reasoning for Minerva’s three positions. Filius couldn’t be Deputy or the Ministry could- and likely _would_ \- withhold funding, Pomona wasn’t interested in anything beyond her greenhouses and her Badgers, and Severus wasn’t suitable as a teacher, let alone as the Headmaster’s second-in-command.

But-

As an educator and someone who watched so many students love for Potions wither and die; as a mentor who had seen the shame in the eyes of his students who signed away their lives because they had no other recourse; as a witness to the statics and the loss of impact those who just needed the slightest bit of support could have been, _could have done_ -

 _Well_.

Well things were always a bit more black-and-white beneath the harsh light of reflection.

It would be better for _everyone_ \- students and staff alike- if the odd years were handled by the Heads of House and the even years were handled by the Assistants.  The splitting up of yearmates only led to the wizarding world losing potentially bright students!

A seasoned instructor was much better for the foundation year, while a novice could easily build on that sturdy foundation the year after.  However, giving students who needed a little extra help to novice instructors frustrated everyone.  And lost them a fair few students back to the muggle world or- even worse in Filius’ opinion- to the murky waters of indentured servitude or ‘family centered education’.

He was proud of Lily’s daughter’s resilience and her determination to prove everyone wrong.  She had stubbornly refused to be moved back to the ‘proper’ classes, once her Heiress status had been widely known and the ultra-traditional Purebloods- there were a lot of those- had started complaining.

Heather had asked them who died and made them king of _her_ life before she pointedly ignored them.  Usually going back to the little study group she’d put together consisting of the Longbottom Heir, her brother, the newest Weasley, and that shy little Roper girl.

Filius had been terribly amused. 

Ah.  Lovely Bixbite had warned him of her beloved Heiress’ temper.

Filius flushed a bit and discreetly checked himself for drool, gazing out over his classroom of studious Sixth Years studiously as he tried to calm himself.

_Bixbite Goreclaw._

Now _that_ was one amazing female.

Filius was from the Clan of Flintwick.  The Clan of Flintwick- almost always the women- held the sacred duty of producing half-humans, who could wield wands and wizarding magics.  Mostly so that the Stoneblood Nation could better understand wizarding magics and keep well ahead of them.  This practice dated back into the earliest records- which for the Stonebloods went well into the BC years- and was considered necessary and proper.  Frankly, the women usually stole seed from a defeated wizard and underwent a ritual, attended by their faithful handmaidens. Though occasionally a female married a male of great renown, as was the case of Filius’ father and mother.

Truthfully, Filius’ Clan was just under the Royal Clan of Mithrilblood in terms of prestige, due to their long history of sacrifice for the Nation.

His mother was a well-respected Advisor to the one of the High-Gladiator’s favored Consorts- Khatyrkite the Vicious- and lived in the underground Stoneblood capital of Caldera.  Caldera, of course, being the majestic city that was carved into the bowels of the earth, deep under the Mediterranean Sea.  Few outsiders even knew it existed!  Ruled by the sixteen Gladiator advisors- one Mithrilblood champion for each Gringotts territory- and the Great Vanquisher Gladiator-Emperor himself, it was quite the honor for her to live in the Royal Quarter.

Filius, himself, had proven his worth as both a Warrior and a wizard, so he was quite sought after as a mate.

The tiny Charms Master loved teaching, though.  And it gave him an excellent opportunity to pass on information to the Nation, in order to help Gringotts make better business decisions.

Like recommending William Weasley and Archie Tanworthy to be taken on as Curse Breakers.  They would have been _wasted_ at the Ministry!

Filius did want a family someday.  He’d only ever wanted to build a life with one female, though, and he’d been positively heartbroken when the order had been handed down for Bixbite to marry that tunnler.  Sure, Filius had turned her down way back when, but she’d barely reached her majority!  He was twice her age!  He just wanted to give her some time to find her own path, was all!

But Bixbite had prevailed and she was in the process of making her enemies fear her name.

Filius bit back an entirely unbecoming sentimental sigh.

He’d be taking her Clan name, of course, as was traditional for Flintwick Sacrifices.  But part of his dowry- yes, dowry- would be Clan members to bolster her family’s diminishing numbers.  And Filius half-siblings and cousins would leap at the chance to make their own way in the world of profit, as would any Stoneblood worth their salt.  There was many a path for a young Stoneblood sworn in the service of a Manager and Cousin Gritspike dearly wanted to learn Smithing from an Artisan Master, and Gringotts London would be far more agreeable than the rather snooty ones in Caldera…….

What had he been thinking about before he’d gotten distracted?

Oh.  Yes.  The Potter twins.

Barely a fortnight into term and they were already stirring things up.

Filius wished them luck!  Academia was always improved when there were new ideas!

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

 “You’re an absolute _doll_ , Percy.  Thank you!”  Heather said as she deposited a neat stack of parchments in front of him.  “Keep track of your time- no, I insist!- and I’ll make sure to play you fairly.”  She tapped her bottom lip thoughtfully.  “Hm.  Let’s say three- no four would be easier, so four sickles per hour, a sickle for every quarter hour.”  She nodded her head firmly and slung her satchel back over her shoulder.  “I really can’t thank you enough Percy!”

And then she was gone, bounding over to her brother and out of the portrait hole.

Percy had overheard her mentioning a research project and had been curious, so he’d asked her about it- as they’d struck up an odd if not easy friendship.  When she’d mentioned a questionnaire she was wanting to disseminate- one for the average Hogwarts denizen and another for Quidditch players- so she could present it to the Potter Counsel for a project, he’d all but leapt on the task.

Compiling data was surprisingly relaxing and it would look good on his work references sheet.

He certainly hadn’t expected her to pay him for his time- no one ever did- nor had he expected the easy-to-copy questionnaires.  They weren’t crudely written by a First Year, they were legal forms that were meant to be copied onto fresh parchment and tallied.

Father’s official Ministry parchments weren’t even this polished!

Spying Oliver Wood stumbling towards the portrait hole Percy sprang into action.  “Ollie!  I need a moment!”

**\---XXX---**

Percy had gotten all the forms handed out and most of them back before dinner that same day and the rest of the ones he was concerned with on Tuesday.

So he was able to present Heather with her neatly compiled information first thing on Wednesday morning.

“Holy crap, Percy.”  She said as she thumbed through the pages, probably still slightly asleep.  “You work _fast_.”

He felt heat creeping into his cheeks and he coughed uncomfortably.  “Yes, well it seemed time-sensitive.”

Heather glanced at him over the top of the stack of parchment.  “Seriously, Percy.  You went above and beyond. And this information is all easy to read and well-organized.”  Heather glanced at the grandfather clock and shifted through the papers once more.  “I’ll be right back with your payment, ok?”

“There’s no need-”  Percy demurred.

“ _Yes_ , there is a need.”  Heather refuted firmly as she turned to leave, glancing at him over her shoulder.  “You did an excellent job and deserve to be compensated.”  She waved a hand about airily.  “I’m going to guess on your hours because you must have burned the midnight oil to get this done so quickly.  Be back!”

**\---XXX---**

‘ _Holy crap Percy is a paperwork ninja_.’  Heather thought as she wrapped up the information with some spare mail twine and quietly called Tansy, apologizing to the little elf who shrugged unconcernedly.

“Ise talked tos the Hogwarts elfs.”  Tansy informed her with a smile.  “They not bes minding Tansy takings Mistress’ mail, so longs as Ise not bes doing anythings else.”

“Oh, good.”  Heather breathed, smiling sheepishly at Tansy.  “We’re using Hedwig for Sirius’ letters and I just feel a bit more secure giving you the more sensitive documents.  Tell me if you get tired, ok?”

Tansy preened, ignored the last part, and disappeared with a quiet _pop_.

Heather, meanwhile, did some mental calculations.  “A galleon is seventeen sickles, four sickles an hour- so a galleon for every four hours, give or take a bit.  It’s been about- uh, forty eight hours?”  Heather grabbed a spare bit of parchment and scribbled down her math.  “So, let’s say- ah, fuck it.  I’ll give him four galleons and call it even.  That’s like seventeen hours’ worth.”

Digging into her trunk for her coin purse didn’t take long and soon Heather had wrapped the money up in a spare cloth handkerchief and tied it closed with a passing attempt for a pretty bow.

She shoved the wrapped bundle at Percy on her way by and bounded after the boys and Sophie.

Wednesday meant Astronomy at midnight and Heather planned on squirreling away some breakfast muffins for a midnight snack!  She had learned from her experience last week!

**\---XXX---**

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Liv giggled uncontrollably as Tonks finished her rant.

The two young women were in the charmingly rustic living room at Liv’s comfy cottage, Tonks having the weekend off from training.  They had a fairly decent spread of comfort food and were sitting in some black dragonhide-covered squishy, low chairs that had been lurking in the attic.  The chairs were strangely curved and delightfully comfortable, with the added benefit of being much easier for Liv to extricate herself from than her comfortable couches.

Liv was so ready for her baby to get here!

“Hey, Liv?”  Tonks asked once the women had calmed themselves and a comfortable silence had settled between them. “Can I ask you something kinda personal?”

Liv blinked a few times, her hand pausing over the tub of dipping sauce.  “Sure!”  She chirped after a beat of silence, smiling at the slightly squirmy and awkward Tonks.  “Ask away!”

“Well- I just wondered- gah!”  Tonks blew out an exasperated breath at Liv’s amused giggles and glared faux-offense at her friend.  “Why do you call my baby cousin ‘Lady’ all the time?” Tonks waved a hand negligently and then hastily used her unoccupied appendage to stuff some more cheese puffs in her mouth to buy herself more time.  “I mean- you were raised in the muggle world, right?  So…I mean, why the formality?”

Liv finished her bite of cream cheese and chives and swallowed hastily.  “Well, I suppose I don’t think of it that way?”  Liv huffed a bit and settled back in her chair, trying to arrange her legs comfortably, and ending up sitting cross-legged.  “I mean, when I applied for that job, I didn’t think I’d get it.  Truthfully I shouldn’t have.  Ended up getting the job, I mean.”  Liv shook her head and gently cut Tonks off.  “No, Tonksie, I appreciate your steadfast support but I’m not _remotely_ qualified to be a Lady’s personal assistant.  There are actually finishing schools- an extra two years’ worth of education- for that sort of thing.”

Madam Cassie had informed Liv of that, actually.

“The truth of the matter is, if Heather had run a _proper_ ad instead of a mundane one the situation would have been much, much different.”  Liv smiled lopsidedly at her friend.  “The ad should have run in the society section and have been worded slightly differently.  A subtle difference that made all the difference, really.   Madam Cassie says that Bixbite wouldn’t have known- or cared- for the slight differences, as the Stoneblood consider such things ‘bad for business’ or ‘wizard nonsense’.”

“Cultural differences.”  Tonks agreed thoughtfully. 

“Yeah.”  Liv answered somewhat self-deprecatingly.  “But in the end- whether by fate or chance- Heather decided to take a chance on the pregnant teen with no qualifications, despite already being at a disadvantage. Of course, it helped that the other three weren’t much to write home about.” 

“See!”  Tonks butted in eagerly, waving a licorice strand around in an overly exaggerated manner.  “You got the job all by yourself!”

“Yeah, _no_.  I read the transcripts for the other interviews.  Poor Heather didn’t have much to choose from.”  Liv flapped a hand dismissively.  “And, keeping in mind Bixbite’s minor faux-paus that worked in my favor, Heather only ended up with Bixbite as Manager because Madam Connie- who is a Grade-A, Madam Cassie-esque badass by the way- called in a few favors when the twins went to Gringotts that first time.”  Liv grinned at Tonks’ incredulous expression.  “Which Madam Connie only did because she felt that Heather was going to need a leg up on the Ministry to keep Harry away from those who wanted to use him for their own ends.  See something, say something sort of thing.”

“That.”  Tonks proclaimed huffily as she plopped the bag of Honeydukes chocolates in her lap.  “Is a _serious_ string of coincidences.”

“Isn’t it?”  Liv giggled, a bit amused at the sheer ridiculousness of it all when put in such stark terms.  “But it happened.  And here I am.”  Liv gestured towards the cottage before she rubbed her baby bump lightly.  “And when Heather decided to hire me, she literally changed my life.  Possibly saved it.”

“That’s a little much, don’t you think?”  Tonks asked somewhat hesitantly.

Liv shook her head negatively.  “Not really.  Women in my family have a rather terrible history with childbirth.  My mum-“  Liv cleared her throat a bit and smiled tremulously.

Gah!  Pregnancy hormones were terrible!

“My mum died giving birth to my little brother, who was premature.  He only made it a few weeks.”  Liv smiled sadly at the sad understanding in her friend’s eyes.

Andromeda Tonks had nearly lost her own life in a similar situation, as Liv had come to learn over the course of her friendship with Tonks.  There had just never been a good moment for Liv to share her own, somewhat similar, tragic backstory.

“I mean, not only mum.  My nana and other women in my maternal line either died in childbirth or somehow ended up in poor health afterwards- it’s like a family curse or something.”  Liv absently rubbed her belly and tried to put her feelings into words.  “So, there I was.  Alone, pregnant, and a Hogwarts drop-out.  I couldn’t go back to the muggle world- my father wanted nothing to do with me and I’ve got no schooling past primary, which isn’t exactly a common situation- and I was also hiding from my former flame and his Family.  Pregnancy messes with a witch’s magic something fierce- as you well know- and it wasn’t like I could afford a wizarding tent and live in the woods.  What would I eat?  How would I defend myself?"  

Liv tried to keep a smile on her face as she pushed the unwanted feelings of terror and desperation to the far corners of her mind.

That was then, she was in a much better place now!

"I did hide out at a lot of campsites and such near and in London, but I was scared to move too far from the Leaky and the entrance to Diagon."  Liv continued moderately evenly.  "And I had- have- to be careful of Dark magical beasts and such because a lot of them prey on pregnant women or young children.  I would go whole days with nothing more than _Aguamenti_ water and whatever foods I could scrounge from…less-than-upstanding sources and such.  I never stole anything in the muggle world because I was terrified I’d end up in a cell at the Ministry and that they’d find out about my baby.”

“And the Ministry monitors magic done in predominantly nonmagical areas.”  Tonks added, having been learning those rules by heart for several weeks at this point.  “Especially if it’s more than just a shrinking charm or something simple like that and especially in the bigger cities like London.”  Tonks grimaced a little and ate a few more pieces of chocolate, washing them down with some milk.  “Outside of the big cities, their monitoring methods are pretty…..nonexistent.”  Tonks glanced around furtively.  “Don’t tell anyone I said that!”

They were drinking their milk in fancy wineglasses, trying to pretend they were drinking actual wine.

“Yeah.”  Liv continued, grinning at bit at Tonks’ guilty expression.  “But like I said, with unstable magic I couldn’t very well go live in the woods.  So I was hanging around Diagon during the day, trying to find some sort of work- and I did more than a few things I’m not proud of to be able to eat- but the point is, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to survive the birth of my child.  Then, in the span of a week, I got a job, a home, and magical healthcare.”  Liv’s grin turned a bit softer.  “So I call Heather ‘my Lady’, as sort of a…………..promise?  I mean, I greatly respect her despite her young age.  I guess it’s my way of gently reminding her that she’s my boss and that I respect her word just like I’d respect any other boss.”  Liv made a frustrated sound and glared down at her heart-shaped marshmallows in disgust.  “It sounds a bit stupid, I guess, but I just want her to know that even if she has to fight for everyone else’s respect- whether due to her gender, her age, or any other rather bullshit reasons- I’m on her side, rain or shine.  She’s not only my friend, _she’s my boss_.”

“Huh.”  Tonks mused in the wake of Liv’s rather passionate declaration.  “I suppose I think of her a little differently because she’s my cousin, but I can totally see your point.  And Heather _will_ have to fight- uphill and against the wind, as Uncle Frank would say- to get others to take her seriously.  Especially as Lady Black.  No matter how supportive those of us directly next to her are, there’s going to be a _lot_ of different factions trying to undermine her or paint her in a bad light.”  Tonks grinned and bopped Liv on the nose with a licorice strand.  “Good call, Livvy!”

Liv’s entirely mature response was to steal the bag of chocolates from Tonks’ lap.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather laid her aching head down on the open pages of the nearest book, not caring the slightest bit about her glasses squishing uncomfortably.

Hogwarts had been in session for two weeks and she already felt like a complete loser. 

Wholly and completely.  _Why_ had she thought she could make it in this crazy world? 

Sophie and Sally-Anne were off hanging with the Choral Club- they met three times a week- as the other two Gryffindor girls had showed an interest in it when Professor Flitwick had mentioned it- which he did at least three times a shared class.  Heather had encouraged them to check it out- partly to be supportive and partly to reclaim some solitude, as crappy as that sounded.    Heather had gone to the first meeting, but as much as she liked music, it just wasn’t quite her thing. 

And, you know, peace and quiet.

Hence her being in the Library, alone, on a Thursday. 

She was exhausted from having Astronomy the night before- Harry had gone to bed already- but she was determined to finish up her research into Transfiguration basics.  If she could fully understand the basic principles it would be much easier for her to fold in the more complex concepts.  But information was scattered and hidden away in little bolt holes and it was difficult to find all the founding threads to the Transfiguration tapestry.

No wonder there were rarely advancements beyond the norm!  It was all up to the motivation and determination of the student, and they only had access to the Library for seven years!  With additional classes and responsibilities being slowly added in over time.

She was _so_ screwed.

Heather’s head throbbed a bit and she whimpered into her book-pillow.

Tomorrow was a tennis day.

The others had been sufficiently excited about the game after watching Heather and Harry play and thus tennis mornings were Friday through Tuesday.

Hagrid hadn’t spoken to her since the little incident, her personal quest to make detailed flashcards to study with seemed impossible, she kept forgetting to find the stupid tapestry with the trolls on it so she could locate the Diadem, Malfoy was _really fucking annoying_ , there was test tomorrow in fucking Potions, Sophie and two of the alternate Slytherins might be dropped from Hogwarts at the end of term because their magic was destabilizing from using a wand regularly, the Will reading was Tuesday, and-

Well, Heather felt like she should just crawl back to the nonmagical world.  She felt slightly less like she was drowning on dry land there.

“Heather?”  Percy asked off to the side, sounding anxious.

‘ _If anyone’s listening, some sanity and patience would be amazing.’_  Heather thought somewhat sourly as she peeled her face off the open book and focused on the nervously shuffling Percy.  “What’s up, Percy?”

While there was a major age gap between the two, they had struck up an amiable, if loose, friendship.

“Well, Harry said you wished to speak with me-“  Percy paused and gave her a squinty-eyed look.  “Are you feeling quite alright?” He asked, seemingly alarmed.

For her part, Heather was feeling far too warm and fuzzy-headed, but anxiety tended to make her sick so she hadn’t been really paying attention to it.  She’d been feeling poorly off-and-on since her arrival in Diagon what felt like a lifetime ago and increasingly queasy every day since they’d arrived. 

She’d chalked it up to the food- while Hogwarts served good food, it was much heavier than she usually preferred and she could only eat so much soup.

Now that he mentioned it, though……

The last thing Heather remembered was wondering why the Library had started to shake.

**\---XXX---**

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Harry woke to Chromie kneading his chest irritably, occasionally lightly pawing at his face, her tail twitching anxiously behind her.

“Chromie-wha?”  He’d sleepily mumbled, only to look around and not see his sister anywhere.

‘ _Chromie doesn’t even like me!’_   Harry thought fuzzily, propping himself up on an elbow and noting that mallei was also awake and alert.

It was an odd enough situation that it woke him up a bit more, despite him being very sleepy.

Not fifteen seconds later the hangings on his bed were thrust aside and Ron’s brother was there.  “Your sister is in the Hospital Wing.”  The normally composed Prefect said quickly.  “She collapsed in the Library.”

Harry was suddenly awake and moving.  “Can you take me?”  He asked as he threw on a robe and stumbled towards the door.  “I don’t know where it is.”

“Of course.”  Percy sounded rather offended that Harry hadn’t immediately assumed that Percy would escort him.

Harry decided that no matter how much the twins or Ron griped, Percy was alright.

**\---XXX---**

Harry sat with the Headmaster in Madam Pomfrey’s extremely clean and organized as the Matron explained Heather’s condition.

Truthfully Harry was only being allowed to hear because he’d thrown a fit and pointed out that he was Heather’s Heir-Apparent.  And the Headmaster vouched for him, so Headmaster Dumbledore was pretty awesome, too!

“It’s a resistance infection.”  Madame Pomfrey explained patiently, mostly for Harry’s benefit.  “She’ll need at least a week’s worth of strict rest for the medicine to work properly.”  Madame Pomfrey crossed her arms and glared.  “Not entirely uncommon for muggle-raised.  She just needs to build up a resistance to the Tevan’s Range of Magical Secretions.  Her sensitivity is somewhat rare, but not unheard of, but it started as a mild allergic reaction that gave way to an infection.  Fairly common when the allergic reaction isn’t noted immediately.”  The Matron smiled kindly at Harry.  “She’ll be perfectly fine in about a week or so, but I’m keeping her asleep through the worst of the process.  She’ll be a bit tired and sore when she wakes, but she’ll recover fully.  Better, even. She’ll always need to wear the more expensive resistance gloves when dealing with substances on the Class II-VI schedules, but that is easily done.  Thankfully her magic is perfectly fine, so I can assure you that there is no magical septicity.”

Then the Matron left her office, probably to tend to ‘feather some more.

Harry felt rather numb.  Numb and cold and rather like he was underwater.

Heather-feather was larger than life, his twin, his buddy, his sister-mum- she couldn’t get sick!  What if she got so sick she ended up like Nana?

Oh…

_Oh no._

“Do you know where a tapestry is?”  Harry blurted out, turning to face the Headmaster, suddenly desperate to help Heather-feather get better. 

She wouldn’t get sick like this if she had less to worry about, right?  People got sick from stress…..and ‘feather wasn’t allergic to anything else!  Not peanuts or- or anything!  It was stress!  It had to be! 

And she’d shared a memory with the Headmaster.  Heather _hated_ sharing personal information with people who weren’t family!

She’s promised to tell him the story at the Christmas Hols, so the Headmaster knew something _important_.

“I know where a lot of tapestries are, young man.”  The Headmaster answered pleasantly.  “I’m afraid you’ll have to narrow it down a bit.”

“One on the seventh floor?”  Harry replied, furrowing his brows as he tried to remember exactly what Heather had said.  “With some guy teaching trolls to dance?  It’s across from a special room with one of Voldemort’s special thingies in it.  You gotta pace back and forth- three, four?- times while wanting the room of hidden stuff or something like that.  Heather’s been really stressed about finding it so it can be destroyed.”

The air in the office went eerily still for a moment, and Harry looked up to see the Headmaster rather frozen. 

“Could you elaborate for an old man?”  He eventually asked, his focus shifting exclusively to Harry.

So Harry told him.  About ‘feather’s ‘dreams’ and the Horcrux-Lich jar thingies, and how they had destroyed one already and how there was one here at Hogwarts she was really keen to get rid of, but she’d just been _so busy_ and worried about its defenses, and he’d-

A warm, grandfatherly-like hand settled on his head.  “Do not fret, young Harry.”  The Headmaster told him kindly, his eyes that same shade of stern that Gramps’ was when one of his students had come to class with a black eye, courtesy of his stepdad.  “I will fetch Professors McGonagall and Flitwick and the item will be disposed of shortly.”  The man’s eyes regained some of their usual twinkle.  “I’ll be sure to inform Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey that you’ll be staying with your sister for the night.”

“Thank you, Headmaster.”  Harry said, suddenly overcome with relief as he hopped up and made a beeline for ‘feather’s bed.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Albus Dumbledore was furious.

A Horcrux?  In _his_ school?!  Near _his_ students?!

No.  _Furious_ didn’t even come close to covering his seething righteous anger at this discovery.

No wonder the Wards had been losing power for the past thirty years!  Horcruxes were abominations unto magic- to the cycle of life itself!  They siphoned off the vitality and life-essence of their surroundings and corrupted them.

That was how the Dementors had come into being!  Why the wretched things were used to guard those who committed crimes again magical society!

And that foolhardy idiot had stored one at Hogwarts?!

Albus had already been primed to destroy Tom Riddle’s award for special services tot eh school once Hagrid had finally gotten his trial- they were waiting for the day of the Potter Will reading, on the advice from the Potter Counsel- but now he was going to destroy he dammed thing with fire instead of just throwing it out!

Minerva and Filius were silent shadows, but Dumbledore was far too gone in his own thoughts to notice the stray sparks rolling off of him as he marched towards the tapestry in question.

It took a few tries, but eventually a door appeared on what he had always known to be a blank wall.  Without fanfare Albus raised his wand- the Elder Wand- and threw it open.

He was slightly surprised by all the junk.

“Point Me Tom Riddle.”  He commanded, and though it took a fair amount of effort, the spell eventually worked.

Sort of.  The Point-Me spell worked based on information the caster unconsciously supplied, and the headmaster was quite familiar with Tom’s magical signature, corrupted and not.  Albus had always had an excellent memory for magic.

Hence a great deal of the reason why the memory of Ariana’s death haunted him so, even after all these long years.

They made their way through the piles of junk and half-enchanted things silently, Minerva and Filius’ wands keeping light on their surroundings.  After about ten minutes of walking- and passing more than a few things that piqued Albus’ academic curiosity- they reached an ugly, half-melted bust near a standing cabinet. 

There was an old hat box on the same table as the bust that positively oozed Tom’s corrupted, post-Myrtle signature, though.

With a few swishes of his wand, the box opened.

“By Ragnok’s blade!”  Filius hissed irately.  “Who left such an abomination here?!  Did they _know_ how many leylines feed into Hogwarts!?  What they’ve done?!  The danger they put the students in!”

“Albus?”  Minerva question as Filius descended into the guttural language of his kin.

“This, Minerva, is what Voldemort did to prevent his natural death.”  Albus managed to say steadily, though he, too, was positively enraged.  “I have recently been informed that it can be disposed by Gringotts, however, and thus that is where I will be heading once we properly contain it for transport.”

“No need, Albus.”  Filius rebutted, his voice a bit rougher than usual.  “I am perfectly capable of casting Seraphfyre.”  He smiled tightly at the Headmaster.  “I trust the bust and the cabinet aren’t particularly important?”

Albus shook his head and stepped back.  “Even if they were, their loss would be worth the destruction of such a foul relic.”  He sighed sadly.  “I do wish we didn’t have to destroy the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw but, alas-“

“A supposedly cleansed artifact is what caused the Outbreak of 1634.”  Filius replied stoutly.  “And it cost us the lives of nearly fifty _thousand_ magicals on the Isles and the Continent.  We have yet to recover from the Dark Spate.  No, items infected with anything greater than a Class VII Dark Curse _must_ be destroyed without prejudice.”

“Agreed.”  Minerva said firmly, her wand having been trained on the profane artifact since they’d found it.  “We should, however, dispose of this in the dungeons. Somewhere in the dead zone so we can be certain that we are not leaving whatever foulness inside it free to find another container.”

Filius stopped short and scowled in thought.  “You are correct, Minvera.”  He looked to the Headmaster wryly.  “I will help you prepare it for transport, Albus. The halls of my kin would be safer for the students.”

“Very well.”  Albus replied, beginning to wave his wand in intricate patterns.  “Gringotts for disposal it is.”

**\---XXX---**

On his way out, Albus sent an elf off to retrieve Tom Riddle’s award for special services to the school.

It would be worthless after Hagrid’s trial, might as well not take any chances with any of Tom’s old relics inside the halls of his school.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

 

 


	11. Trial of Valor

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Cassiopeia Black smoothly rose from her seat in the Heir’s Gallery when Arcturus called upon her, briskly making her way to the flat, central area reserved for addressing the Wizengamot.

The Chair of the Accused was nowhere to be seen, as there was no criminal trial underway- Sirius’ trial had been rather against the norms, really- meaning that the reverse side of the floor was in use. 

The floor more _shifted_ than _flipped_ , but either way the standard setting for the Wizengamot floor was one of two sturdy desks with handsome leather-backed chairs and benches to the sides of them.  On the floor, just in front of the two stately desks, were two seals engraved into the stone. 

The area designated for the plaintiff was to the left of the Wizengamot- so it would be to Cassie’s right- and had the formal Greek letter ‘P’ emblazoned on the floor.

The other- to the right of the Wizengamot and Cassie’s left- was the designated area for the defendant and held the stylized Greek letter ‘D’ inscribed onto the floor in front of it.

There was usually a podium that the solicitors used when a hearing was in progress to address the Wizengamot, but it wasn’t out today as this was not a trial.  Usually the witness chair faced the Wizengamot and the questioning solicitor had their back to the Wizengamot while they questioned the witness.

To prevent accusations of tampering with a witness, mostly.  As then the opposing counsel had a clear view of the solicitor’s hands and actions, as did the Oath-Sworn DOM Watchers, who served as impartial observers.

So, today, the large, ornate seal that usually held the podium and witness chair was devoid of any clutter, as was proper.  Far grander than either of the others, the seal held a relief of the Celtic intertwined five-fold knot.  The mandate of the Wizengamot was inscribed along the outside edge of the relief in Greek, Latin, Old Brythonic, Old English, and finally Old Norse, the five traditional languages of the founding families of the Council of Nobles.

Cassie took her place with her back straight and her face firm.

“The Wizengamot recognizes Madam Cassiopeia Black, blood-relative of Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, called to Speak at the behest of Lord Arcturus Black, concerning to the Rights to Guardianship of his grandson, Sirius Black.”  The Herald droned on, listing other titles and such and bungling her title and Heather’s own, but Cassie was gracious enough to not correct him. 

Cassiopeia recited the Oath dutifully and gave the Wizengamot her best gimlet glare as the Chief Warlock ceded the floor to her.

Sirius and Arcturus were a bit too estranged from each other to agree wholly on _anything_ , especially while Sirius was still so affected by Azkaban.  But Cassie’s close relationship with Dorea meant that she had always been around, a least peripherally, and allowed Cassie enough goodwill for Sirius to trust her to represent his godkids in his absence.

The Potter Will had been read, and while Sirius was the favored guardian, some sects- most notably Lucius Malfoy’s ilk-- were trying to use Heather’s title as Heiress Potter to argue that Peter Pettigrew’s mother, Enid Pettigrew, should be given precedence to Sirius, who had named Cassie his acting proxy.

Coincidentally, Enid’s late husband’s family were a vassal house to the House of Nott, who were rumored to be deeply in debt to House Malfoy.

_Convenient_.

The joint Will clearly and emphatically designated guardianship to Sirius, as a magically confirmed brother to James, plainly stating Sirius’ status as an adopted member of the House of Potter and then Harry’s godfather.  In the event of Sirius’ death his Will was to be executed, but their preferred alternate guardian was Peter Pettigrew, as Heather’s godfather. 

Cassie was slightly disappointed in the short-sightedness of the short list, but she also acknowledged that the Will was made shortly after the twins’ birth and that the couple had been young and without any direct remaining family.  According to Cassie’s information Lily Potter’s parents had only recently passed by the date of the Will, and without any familial safety net to fall into, they were left with only those they trusted implicitly.

Thankfully Enid was nothing if not a Hufflepuff through-and-through.  Born the eldest daughter of Caspar Crouch and Charis Black-Crouch and later married off to that _horrid_ Paschal Pettigrew for unseemly reasons, the woman had been more than willing to bend her ear to Cassie’s proposal. 

Of course, Heather’s sensible nature and willingness to reach out to the lonely older woman had gone a long way to help Cassie’s case.  Heather had written to the woman before she left for Hogwarts and had intended to deliver the letter in person, but Cassie had convinced the girl to allow her to deliver the letter on Heather’s behalf when Heather hadn’t managed to squeeze the meeting into her rather full schedule.

Heather was still sleeping off her recent illness at Hogwarts, to make matters a bit more complicated.  

Cassie would have to add ‘paying attention to one’s body’ and ‘regular checkups’ to Heather’s to-do list once Cassie was proclaimed Guardian.  Well, as Heather’s Guardian Cassie could take over many of the things that the poor dear was currently trying juggle in addition to her studies.

Physical illness was fairly easily cured in these situations….magical illnesses, however, were _incredibly_ dangerous.  Especially in young ones.  And Cassie wanted to ensure Heather didn’t damage her ability to have children in the future!  Heather might not agree, but she’d make a fantastic mother and Cassie wanted to watch over those precious little ones with dear Dorea in the hereafter!

Snapping back to the present, Cassie efficiently laid out her case.

“This is a rather simple matter, in my humble opinion.”  Cassie informed the Wizengamot calmly.  “Enid Pettigrew has agreed to waive her claim to Heiress Potter’s guardianship.”  Cassie smiled thinly at Lucius Malfoy’s sudden scowl and withdrew a sealed scroll from her handbag, handing it off to the nearby Messenger.  “As evidenced in this Notarized Document of Intent, signed before the Potter Counsel and the Potter Manager, with myself and Dowager Longbottom as witnesses.”

Augusta rose from the Longbottom Seat and affirmed her involvement before sitting back down.

Cassie once again mentally applauded the strength of family ties.  Lucretia had been taking tea with dear Callidora, and Callidora had managed to convince her sister-in-law of the House of Black’s intent to sever ties with Bellatrix.  And given the recent political climate, the change in Bellatrix’s status would allow Augusta- or her grandson- to try for a Veil Sentence, once Bellatrix’s Adjustment Hearing came due.

Adjustment Hearings, of course, being the appearance before the Wizengamot a maximum security prisoner was granted upon their completion of twenty-five years of their sentence.  Truthfully very few ever made it that long and the ones who did were wholly insane, but if the house of Longbottom was granted a Veil Sentence, based on Bellatrix’s changed circumstances, it would allow them some grim satisfaction.

The Veil of Death was essentially a pocket dimension; a magical wasteland made of suffering and lost souls.  It had been created as a way to execute prisoners in such a way that prevented their tainted magical essence from fouling the leylines and their Family Magics.  It was an ultimate sentence that was not handed down lightly.

Idly Cassie pondered what to do about Cissy’s boy.

Heather was not overly prone to dramatics, but nearly every letter the future Heiress Black had sent since term commenced had included at least one unflattering encounter with Draco Malfoy.  Encounters which had only grown more unpleasant given Heather’s erroneous placement in the alternate classes and the kerfuffle with that Snape boy.

As a side note, Cassie was fiercely proud of her little grand-niece.  And her grand-nephew!

Instead of allowing others to dictate how to act- through social pressure and constant muttering from the masses- the twins were defying convention while still maintaining respect for reasonable authority and tradition.  Heather, while tired and uncomfortable with the spotlight, had risen to the challenge, and like a good brother, Harry was fully supportive.  Cassie rarely had the pleasure of meeting such mature and kind children who were brave enough to tell the rest of the world it could go hang itself and its opinions, even as little First Years away from home for the first time.

_‘Figures that it would be dear Dorea’s grandbabies._ ’  Cassie thought, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.  ‘ _And by the time the arrogant fools realize the easy victory they handed her, Heather will have moved on to greater things.  Her brother and a loyal support network at her back.’_

It truly did amaze Cassie, Heather’s courage.  The girl didn’t see herself as brave- far from it!- but it was a quiet sort of courage that steadily took one step after another, mostly because the idea of failing wasn’t near as scary as the idea of never trying at all.

And Harry!

Harry was much more like Charlus than James had been as a teen, though Cassie had been rather fond of the adult version of James Potter.  He would make an excellent Lord Potter, a perfect counterpart to Heather’s Lady Black.

The twins had trials still ahead of them, of course.  And Cassie was unlikely to live to see it through, but she could and would lay groundwork for the twins to build on.

Pulling out of his woolgathering, Cassie focused her attention back onto the debate.

Oh, she’d missed Diggle’s speech.

_Pity, that._

There were a few more rounds of debate, testimony from the Potter Counsel and Andromeda, and more than one dig at the Chief Warlock and his mistaken testimony that had helped seal the Will in the first place- something which he would likely see a sanction or two from.   But after nearly three hours of deliberation- including backhanded tactics from the likes of Lucius Malfoy and his allies, more of the same from some of the Light families wanting to keep the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ from the Blacks out of sheer principle, and some upstarts trying to overreach their station, Cassie was awarded Guardianship in Sirius’ stead.

Cassie’s lips curved into a wicked grin as she watched the Lord Malfoy storm from the chamber, no doubt thinking he’d beat her to the _Prophet_ this time, only to be called back to a session of the Council of Nobles.

‘ _Witless_ f _ool_.’  Cassie thought contemptuously as she withdrew a sealed parchment from her handbag and discreetly handed it off to Augusta Longbottom. _‘You have no class.  Just like that fool you swore yourself to body, mind, and magic.’_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Hagrid hadn’t actually needed to appear in court, especially not with Headmaster-slash-Chief Warlock Dumbledore’s glowing character witness statement.

Truth be told, Hagrid had never been tried before the Wizengamot, or a court of ‘commoner’ law.  He’d been found guilty by a ‘majority’ vote of a partial session of the Council of Nobles, _in absentia,_ and there had been a Ministry Order handed down towards that effect. 

Ministry Orders were a grey area, used predominantly by the Minister for Magic and the Council of Nobles; they were legally binding but usually easily overturned given enough support or when properly appealed, as that would escalate the situation to review by a full-session of the Wizengamot. 

Which was why they weren’t talked about much even when they _were_ used. 

Most folks didn’t even know the actual difference between a Ministry Order- sometimes also known as a Wizengamot Decree or a Minister’s Ordinance- and an official Wizengamot Ruling.  The lesser courts also handed out binding Verdicts.

So, given the House of Potter’s vested interest in one Rubeus Hagrid, it had been a rather simple matter for Cassiopeia Black to request a Hearing before the already-gathered Council of Nobles- as it was a full session of the Wizengamot, save for the frozen seats due to underage heirs or lack of a successor- during the afternoon after the Will reading.  

The Council of Nobles did not have a Chief Warlock, but rather a Speaker and that was who rang in the closed session once the other Wizengamot members had been dismissed and the galleries emptied.

So, an hour after she’d been made Guardian, Madam Cassie ceded the floor to Reginald.   

And it had only taken him forty-five minutes, support from the House of Black- _“My grandson didn’t rate a trial either, I’m sensing a pattern here, Tanslon Rowle!  I will not allow it to stand!  And I don’t care if the man’s half-centaur, Appointee Umbridge!  He received a Hogwarts Letter and therefore is a full citizen under the laws by which we govern!  Or has this body grown so corrupt that we don’t even pretend to obey the laws our forefathers swore on their lives and Family Magic to uphold?!  Shall I have the DOM retrieve the Founding Charter for you to peruse at your leisure so that you might better remember your own Oaths?”_ \- and Rubeus Hagrid’s Ministry Order that declared him a criminal and stripped away his wand-carrying rights had been overturned by a two-thirds majority.

There would be no repatriations, sadly.  Thought Reginald did try and had made a passionate case that had set more than one member to considering the situation.

The system was still biased and more than a little skewed, but it was a victory nonetheless.

Hagrid was waiting at the Potter office, with the Headmaster, and Olivia.  Nigel had assisted Reginald, of course, and Madam Cassie had been in the Potter Seat.

A quick bit of Apparition once they’d extracted themselves from the Chamber and they were just outside the wards of the Potter office.

The returning victors found their compatriots gathered in a conference room just off the main entrance.  Done in reds and gold with warm woods and plush carpeting, Reginald wasn’t surprised to see them arrayed around a long table, with nibbles and tea and various stacks of paperwork scattered out and among them.

Reginald smiled widely at the nervously shuffling half-giant.  “Congratulations, Hagrid.”  He said as he settled his briefcase on the table and withdrew a sheaf of papers.  “As of twenty minutes ago, you are a wand-carrying member of society once again.”  Reginald kindly ignored the loud, noisy tears the giant man erupted into, “Here are your copies- and yours as well, Headmaster.”

“Ah!  Thank you!”  Headmaster Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling brightly behind his trademark spectacles.  He glanced over the sheaves of parchments quickly before nodding his head in satisfaction.  “Most excellent.  Thank you.”  The man reached out a weathered hand and patted Hagrid’s leg warmly.  “Come now, Hagrid!  We have a wand to see to!  Garrick will be terribly chuffed at the challenge of finding you a new wand!”

Hagrid- who had whipped out what seemed to be a tablecloth to blow his nose on, nodded vigorously. “Righ’ Perfessor!”  He turned teary eyes towards Reginald and seemed to take a sort of half-step forward and pause before he nodded decisively and wrapped Reginald up in what could only be termed as a ‘bear hug’.  “Thank yeh so much!”  He said a bit sheepishly and sniffly after he’d set Reginald back on his own two feet.  “I really can’t thank yah enough.”

“I only look after the matters my Lady wishes.”  Reginald replied sincerely.  “She was quite insistent in her opinion that your case had fallen by the wayside for far too many years.”

“Great kids, those two.”  Hagrid mumbled mostly to himself as the Headmaster gently herded him towards the door.  “Should make ‘em somethin’ special…….”

Once they were well away, Madam Cassie broke out into a laugh.  “You are coming with dear Heather when she makes her move, aren’t you, Master Montfort?”

Reginald smiled wryly and took a seat beside Nigel, who had seated himself sometimes earlier.  “Nigel and I have discussed things and decided that I would move to the House of Black while he stays with House Potter.”  Reginald shot his grandson an amused look.  “I am quite looking forward to the challenge, though we’ll both need a research assistant or two and a secretary.  Each.”  Reginald stroked his neatly trimmed beard.  “Preferably before next fall, so as to give them plenty of time to be trained and immersed in the Family interests.”

Madam Cassie nodded primly.  “Of course.  Write your adverts and I will see that they are placed in the _Prophet_.  I imagine that we’ll pull the Black office- it’s just across the way, on the opposite end of the street- out of the ethers during the Christmas Hols, or Easter, at the latest.”  She sighed sadly.  “They’ve been sealed away since Arcturus took up the mantle of Lord Black after Orion’s passing.  It will be good to see the old place standing tall and proud once again.”

“Is it much bigger than this office?”  Liv asked curiously, looking up from her work distractedly.  She flicked a glance towards Nigel, who also happened to be looking at her, and they both held each other’s gaze for a moment before they awkwardly broke eye contact and returned to their respective parchments.

Reginald and Madam Cassie shared a knowing, amused look.

Reginald was utterly amused at how love-struck his grandson was with the vivacious young woman, and she with Nigel.  Oh, they thought they were being sneaky with their quick glances and delightfully awkward conversations, but Reginald was fairly certain that his grandson would likely come seeking Reginald’s blessing soon enough.

Her pregnancy wasn’t a hindrance at all, it was actually sort of a blessing.  The Death Eater attack that Nigel survived as a child hadn’t left him unscathed.  His sterility had been a major factor in Nigel’s lack of desire for a romantic partner, much to Reginald’s sadness.

But Olivia was more than just a convenient pregnant witch.  No, his grandson was utterly and hopelessly besotted with the quick-witted, determined young woman and from what Madam Cassie had slyly let slip, Olivia fairly reciprocated those feelings.

She was a bit young, but she was mature.  And Nigel would wait for as long as necessary for her to be entirely comfortable, as a proper gentleman should.

“I should say so.”  Madam Cassie replied to Liv’s question smoothly, adjusting her tea just so in front of her and serving herself a pastry.  “The Potters have always suffered from a sense of humility that the House of Black has not.”  The stately lady grinned, her steel colored hair glinting in the streaming sunlight let in from the arched windows behind her.  “I would go so far as to say the Black office is at least twice the physical size of this one.  On the outside.”

“To say nothing of the inside.”  Liv echoed a bit weakly, her pen- a gift from the twins no doubt, as it had Liv’s name engraved on the side of the handsome dark finish-  hovering above her parchment in suspended motion.

“Naturally.”   Madam Cassie huffed primly, biting into her pastry and ignoring the sheer ridiculousness of that statement.

Reginald was terribly amused _and_ he’d won his first case!

He totally deserved a cherry tart………perhaps the pregnant lady in their midst would share her favorite treat?

A small plate of aforementioned tart appeared without a sound nearby and Reginald made a mental note to thank Tansy later.

Right now, he had a tart to eat before he was caught out!

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Hagrid bawled as he gripped his new wand.  It was oak, just like his old one, and had two of Fluffy’s whiskers as a core.  Sixteen inches precisely, it was warm and perfectly fitted for him, even better than his old wand.

“Ah.”  Mr.  Ollivander said in satisfaction.  “There you are, Hagrid.”  He peered at Hagrid suspiciously.  “Do try to keep this one intact, hm?”

The half-giant nodded vigorously.  “I won’t let anything happen’ to it!”

“Good.”  Ollivander pronounced, reaching down and withdrawing a few items.  “Heiress Potter sent me a letter via her assistant and asked that I acquire these for you.” 

“Wha’?”  Hagrid asked confusedly.

“This-“  Mr.  Ollivander said, tapping a leather medallion threaded on a thickly braided leather thong.  “-is a rather unique wand holster.  Heiress Potter noted that you often have your hands occupied and that you are known to carry a crossbow, so she wanted a wand holster that would better suit your needs.  This is a bracelet holster, but made with your size and strength in mind.  It is guaranteed to hold up through the roughest conditions for at least ten years.”

Hagrid tried to stop blubbering, but it was just too much!

He’d gotten his wand back, he got to go play with exciting new beasties whenever he wanted so long as his chores were done, _and_ he’d gotten a wand holster!

The Headmaster helped Hagrid fit it onto his right wrist and helped him work the new contraption.

It took a few tries and he’d need to practice, but standing there blubbering like a baby and feeling like he was eleven years old all over again, Hagrid vowed to work hard and earn his mastery so he could repay the Potters for their kindness!

“It seems like jus’ yesterday I was flyin’ them over Bristol.”  Hagrid snuffled to the Headmaster as they walked to the apparition point.  “An’ now they’re half growed……and _changin’_ things!”

“Too true, my friend.”  Headmaster Dumbledore replied with a smile as he reached out an arm and Hagrid gripped it gently.  “And I, for one, can’t wait to see what sort of chaos they’ll bring about next.  Excitement is good for the soul!”

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather was thoroughly scolded by her very worried brother the moment she blinked awake Thursday afternoon.

Then by just about everyone else.

By the time she made it back to the dorm she was exhausted and the other girls- who had postponed the Girls Night until the following Saturday for her- hustled her up to bed.

Chromie didn’t seem to know whether to be happy or angry with her and, in true cat fashion, settled on something between the two extremes.  Harry had whispered that Chromie kept ninja-ing her way into the hospital Ward to sleep with Heather and had given Madam Pomfrey _fits_.

Heather would have preferred to sleep with Harry, but she was just so tired she couldn’t dredge up the energy to protest.

She was asleep before her mind could taunt her with how far behind she likely was on everything.

At least Harry said that Aunt Cassie was their Guardian.

That much she had thought to ask before all the lectures and being booted out of the Infirmary.

**\--XXX---**

“Come again?”  Heather repeated from her reclined position on one of the couches in the common room.  The fires were roaring and it was rainy outside, so the room was rather cozy, despite Heather’s rather unwanted forced bedrest and self-appointed wardens.

Currently, she was catching up on news she missed.

“ _He_ _disrespected_ _you_.”  Harry grumbled in embarrassment, arms crossed defensively.  “And then he insulted Neville.”

“Let me get this straight.”  Heather began again, trying to line up all the facts.  “You had our first flying lesson while I was out.  Well, let me back up.  The school received twenty-two new brooms- Comet brooms, apparently- for general use, while each House had received seven older generation- but still new- Nimbus models for use in quidditch.”

Harry burst into broom techno-babble and Heather just smiled and nodded through it, causing Harry to pout.

“And then-“  She continued dryly, idly petting Chromie.  “-when Madam Hooch was called away by Caretaker Filch-“

“-the sour-“  Weasley twin number one added helpfully.

“-and humorless.”  Weasley twin number two finished glumly.

“-Malfoy grabbed Neville’s gift and started talking sh-smack-”  ‘ _Whoops_!’  “-and then you hopped on a broom and chased it in a heroic dive and somehow managed to not get expelled but placed on the Gryffindor quidditch team.”  Heather finished drolly, amused, concerned, and annoyed all rolled into one.

“…..yes?”  Harry confirmed tentatively.

Heather blew out an exasperated breath and leaned further back into her nest of blankets.  “You’re an idiot.”  She informed her brother warmly.  “But you’re _my_ idiot and Malfoy makes _me_ wanna punch him in the face whenever he opens his mouth at this point…”  Heather grinned at her brother and held out an arm in invitation.  “Way to go, little brother.”

“Yes!”  Harry hollered, springing up and doing a little victory dance before he went to walk over to her only to trip over the comfortable Mallie- who was getting ear rubs from Ron- and fall directly onto Chromie, who was quite less than pleased.

“Remind me to stock up on some sort of calming potion or something for your games.”  She muttered to her moaning brother, who was nursing a few nice scratches on his face while glaring at Chromie, who was on the back of the couch, sleepily glaring at him.

“Will do!”  Harry chirped happily before launching into a passionate rant about flying and quidditch.

**\--XXX---**

Heather actually felt a whole lot better after being essentially sat on for that next weekend after her release from the Hospital Wing.

Then, of course, she was dreadfully busy.

The week fairly flew- as if had grown wings and strapped on a couple liters of NitroBoost- and before she knew it, it was Saturday night.

Which meant Girl’s Night.

_‘Why does it feel like it is always me?’_    Heather mentally complained a bit as she rooted around in the cosmetics drawer.  Mostly purchased on whims, or with Liv or Tonks.  Liv had come through and rushed out to get some darker color palettes to suit the range of skin tones- Heather’s pasty white skin was essentially ‘whichever color is lightest’- and some thrift store silly dress up stuff, complete with paint-on body glitter, plastic butterfly clips, nail polish, glow in the dark nail polish, and those ridiculous sparkly barrette things Heather had mostly forgotten about.  Also, all the things they needed to get that crap back off; with cameras- Polaroid and a regular film one- sent along to immortalize their undertakings.

And headbands _.  So many_ headbands.

Liv had also, at Heather’s request, gotten a different rug for each girl- Heather’s was a poufy blue one!- and so Heather arranged those in a loose circle, placing the cache of loot in the center.

_Ish_.

Then came the snacks that she’d bribed the Weasley twins into getting for her- she certainly hadn’t had time to go wandering around to find the kitchens- and pulled out a couple of platters and arranged them.

_Sort of?_

Then it was back to the trunk for the drinks Liv had sent- because pumpkin juice was sort of disgusting to Heather and it wasn’t really a tea sort of night.

By the time she’d finished the girls were all standing awkwardly at the door and so she waved them all in.  She’d sent them away earlier to go change into their pjs and to grab their own hairbrushes.

“Ok!”  She chirped, trying to inject as much positive energy as she could into her voice.  The other girls had been trying, but there had still been several misunderstandings for Sally-Anne and Sophie to mediate.  “First things first- we shut out the rest of the world!”

Sophie shut the door and Heather cast the two charms Percy had helpfully showed her to prevent eavesdropping.

Theoretically.

“Now!”  Heather announced as she withdrew a small bowl she had cut up little strips of paper in and prenumbered.  “We each draw a number!”

Once that was over and the girls had been matched to the proper rug, they all settled down and Heather spoke up again.  “So, since we know basically nothing about one another, I say we’ll do introductions.  I’ll go first!”  Heather straightened up her blue pajamas importantly and nodded firmly.  “I’m Heather Potter.  I’m eleven years old and my favorite thing in the world other than family- which includes the animals!- is reading.  I’m not sure what I want to do when I grow up, but I really want to learn about warding!  Something that really annoys me is when people assume things about me instead of asking.  I’m really bad about getting stuck inside my own head sometimes, but I’m trying to improve that about myself.”  She nodded to Hermione, who had ended up to Heather’s left, seated on a white shag rug.  “Next!”

Hermione took a deep breath, nervously twisting her fingers in the fluffy fabric of her rug nervously, her pink, cartoon-frog-covered pajamas looking positively adorable.  “I’m Hermione Granger.  I’m el-twelve!  My parents are dentists and we like to travel together.  I’m not certain what I want to do when I graduate either, but I think I’d like to work in law enforcement.  Both uncles are police officers with the Met and my auntie- I only have the one- is a civil servant.”  She chewed on her bottom lip nervously before adding.  “I don’t like it when I get made fun of for working hard in class.”  She peeked up at the other girls from beneath lowered lashes, flushing a bit before she rushed out, “I need to work on how I word things; people mistake me trying to help them as nagging almost all the time.”

“Good!”  Heather chirped, writing down the answers with a flourish before handing the heavy-bound parchment book off to Hermione.  “This is our Record.  I’ll just leave this here with you!”

Hermione accepted it gingerly, as well as the quill and special color-changing ink Heather handed her.

Liv was worth her weight in _gold_.

“Now, Sally-Anne!”  Heather encouraged the brown haired, blue eyed girl with a smile.

“I’m Sally-Anne Perks.  I’m twelve, too.”  She smiled shyly at Hermione, whose head snapped up curiously at that.  “I live in Hogsmeade with my Da, who is a Cobbler.  I’d like to continue the family business someday, maybe make my own line of wizarding shoes.”  She fiddled with the frayed edges of her snitch-and-broomstick bedecked pajamas.  Her rug was a knit, rainbow affair and didn’t really have any handy handholds.  “Uhm, I’m really bad about thinking I’m being annoying and I really don’t like it when people look down on my family for being simple Cobblers.”

Heather gently laid a hand on Hermione’s thigh and nodded at Sally-Anne with a smile.  “Brilliant!”  Heather turned to Parvati.  “And you, Miss Patil~?”

“I’m Parvati Patil, age eleven, one half of the infamous Patil twins.” Parvati grinned cheekily at all of them, the cheerful little designs on her dark pajamas swirling about aimlessly.  Her rug was a fluffy swirly orange and brown one.  “My sister and I were born and raised here- just like our five other siblings- but both sides of our family comes from _Bharatavarsha._ ”  She blinked a few times, and Heather was a bit jealous to note Parvati’s flawless eyelashes.  “I want to travel the world and prove that artisan work is just as important as other trade skills.  Uh, I dislike it when people assume I’m not smart because I like fashion.”

Hermione squirmed under Parvati’s mild glare, but Heather cleared her throat pointedly and the moment passed peacefully.

“I’m really bad about…..”  Parvati ducked her head a bit.  “I’m really bad about repeating things I’ve overheard and not always considering my audience.”

“We _all_ have problems, girlfriend.”  Heather said with an unaffected shrug.  “Sophie!  Your turn!”

Sophie was still wearing Heather’s pre-Aunt Cassie pajamas- so a white shirt and plaid pajama pants- and her rug, coincidentally, was a woven plaid one.  “I’m Sophie Roper.  I’m eleven.  I, uhm, I like to read and listen to Heather’s stories.  I want to….to learn a lot more about Potions.”  Sophie flushed a bit and looked down, playing with the hem of her borrowed pajamas.  “I dislike being told I’m stupid because I have trouble reading- the words move around on me!- and Heather’s always telling me that I need to learn my worth.”

“Damn skippy.”  Heather huffed with a rather dramatic air.  “And if that creep Yaxley- _grrr_ , never mind!”  Heather pulled her thoughts back from the brink of outrage and smiled at Lavender.  “Your turn!”

“I’m Lavender Brown, I’m eleven and I want to be a writer for Witch Weekly when I grow up!”  Lavender chirped with a wide grin.  The girl was in lavender pajamas- that were surprisingly not animated- and was seated on a bright pink rug.  _Bright pink_.  “Uh, let’s see…..I really don’t like it when my older sisters try to tell me I’ll just end up as a trophy wife.”  There was honest hurt and outrage in that statement, though Lavender quickly moved past it. “And I’m really bad at wanting to fix things and so I get overinvolved in situations and stuff that aren’t really about me _at all_?  And it just sort of….explodes in my face a lot.”

“Ok!”  Heather said, dragging the conversation back to herself.  “Now, as we’ve all heard, we all have things we want to improve upon.  We all have goals.  We all want to be taken seriously.  Those are things that _we all have in common_.  I know we’ve got some issues to work through before we can get to the _fun part_ -”  Heather waggled her eyebrows and felt ridiculous doing it, but all the other girls laughed like she had intended.  “-but we’re already off to a good start.  We have more in common than we think!  And the more we try to listen and learn instead of blanket labeling and scoffing, the easier this will be.”  Heather smiled and met each of their gazes and held it for a moment.  “We don’t have to all be the bestest friends ever, remember that.  But _we are all we’ve got_ , so we might as well make the most of it.”

There were murmurs of agreement and Heather nodded in satisfaction.

“Ok, so the _first_ order of actual business is…….”

**\--XXX---**

They had far too much chocolate and soda- thankfully, Heather had saltine crackers and there was plenty of drinking water to help soothe the aftereffects- and used entirely too much hairspray, glitter, eyeliner.  They also somehow ended up with glow-in-the-dark nail polish on _everyone’s_ nails, though none of them could remember precisely _how_ and _when_.

But they ended up having a ton of fun once the main issues plaguing the gold dorm were either talked through or tabled.

It exhausted Heather, honestly.  Despite the fact she’d managed to have fun, the evening had utterly drained her.

Made her feel a bit wrung out and stretched thin, like an entirely deflated sheet of bubble wrap.  But she _knew_ that these girls were worth the investment of her time and peacemaking efforts.  If not for the whole ‘I know a girl’ thing, then for Heather to gain their trust.  She didn’t mean such a  thing in a nefarious manner, of course!  But having the trust of her fellow Gryffindor First Year girls would make them much less likely to talk crap about her or Harry to their families or other Houses.  It would also limit the impact that rumors and unflattering articles- Aunt Cassie was _amazing_ , but enemies of House Potter had money and the _Prophet_ was contested territory- might have in the future.

So Heather would somehow manage.  It was only fortnightly, anyways.

The next day Heather sent the rolls of film off with Tansy and when she presented the other girls with duplicate copies of the pictures a few days later, she feared Hermione was actually going to cry.

**\--XXX---**

“Yes!”  Heather exclaimed quietly to herself, a wide grin overcoming her tired features. 

She was seated at her and Sophie’s usual table in the Library, though she was alone. It was late Friday afternoon, just a bit before dinner.  Harry was at quidditch practice- sadly, they were still doing tennis mornings because Coach had lit a fire for an active lifestyle within Harry and Heather suffered for it- and Sophie and Sally-Anne were off at choral rehearsal. 

Hermione had been keeping Heather company all week, since the girl’s night.  Heather was coping well enough, despite her personal issues with Hermione’s behavior.  But Heather was guiltily grateful that the other girl was off in Ancient Studies, which ran from the end of regular classes until dinner.

Heather would have taken the class gladly if it had been taught by anyone other than Binns.  As it was, Heather suspected it was only Hermione’s pride as a ‘good student’ that kept the other girl committed to the class, given Hermione’s rather lackluster commentary when asked about it.

None of that really mattered in the face of Heather’s sweet, sweet victory though!

After months of frustrating dead ends, sifting through hours and hours of loopy penmanship, and having to practically reinvent her vocabulary- which required no less than _three_ lexicons of varying ages and a notebook and a half full of scrawled new words and definitions that translated archaic terms into modern lingo- she had done it!

Er, sort of.

Heather had concluded that there were five ‘main’ or ‘base’ schools of magic: Conjuration, Arcane, Alteration, Elemental, and Nature.

CAANE.

_Yes_ , she was that lazy.

‘Transfiguration’ actually spanned Conjuration, Arcane, and Alteration, which probably explained why so many struggled with the class even as First Years.

But she was getting a bit ahead of herself.

Conjuration was the school of magic that allowed a caster to use magic to impose their will onto reality.  It tied in closely- but was fundamentally different- from the Arcane school, in that Conjuration was much more organized and established.  Conjuration did not actually change much, new generations merely built on the solid foundation of the school’s well-established rules.  That wasn’t to say nothing new ever happened or that there were no exceptions to the long-held ‘rules’, but such circumstances were exceedingly rare.

The Arcane school was more fluid and ever changing, constantly adapting to magic with each successive peer group learning through trial and error, and using the past as more of a loose template than a solid foundation.  The Arcane was steeped in tradition and history, of course, but it was far less rigid and…..controlled, than Conjuration.

Then came Alteration, which had been a bitch and a half to differentiate from Conjuration.  Alteration was the school where ‘will onto reality’ met ‘sustainability’.  Alteration was defined as ‘the magical process of transformation, creation, or modification’.  It intersected with Arcane and Nature, amusingly enough.  Arcane allowed Alteration to keep pace and kept old spells from being entirely incompatible with newer incarnations. Nature, meanwhile, allowed for things such as the Animagi transformation and the ability to transform all types of matter into others- such as a match into a needle or a Raven into a water goblet- given the correct conditions.

Hence why Transfiguration was so tetchy. 

Also- why didn’t they teach them this crap in class?!

Nature and Elemental were the final- or supporting- two schools and they were annoyingly similar, yet entirely different.

Nature, of course, was anything that lived and breathed or soaked up sunshine and spat out oxygen.  Nature encompassed everything but the elements.

Which was sort of weird to think about, yet true.

Elemental was simple enough in theory- water, fire, wind, and earth.  But in practice helped explained the fundamental differences between an ancient Celtic Druid and a Turkish or Mongol Shaman.  Elemental magics relied heavily on the seasons, the weather, and being sensitive to the local magic, which was far more tricky and subjective than most would believe.

Nature was far more stable and predictable, mostly governed by star movements and phases of the moon- like the solstices- than the more volatile Elemental school. 

There was plenty of crossover and exceptions, but Heather was reasonably confident in her assessments.  Her research- _so much research_ , she felt like she was going to _die_ \- had stopped blowing holes in her logic-ship and if these classifications lasted another week she was going to call it a win.

Then she’d send a copy of her notes to Aunt Cassie and Grandfather- possibly Sirius- and schedule a chat with Professor Flitwick.

Heather was relatively confident, not overly confident.  Confirmation and academic examination by relative professionals were good things.

“ _The wise man built his house upon the rock_.’  Heather thought rather wryly as the bells tolled for dinner and she began to pack up her things.  ‘ _Oooh, that reminds me! I need to send the dossiers to Liv for the Dursleys.  And Sirius sent the twins a letter that I need to give them.  Oh!  I can’t forget to….”_

By the time Heather reached the Great Hall- thankfully the path from the Library was pretty straightforward, even for a navigational dunce like her- her euphoria had gotten buried under her ‘list of things to do before I can go to sleep tonight’.

And tonight she was supposed to continue the Final Fantasy VIII storyline, too.

_Dammit_.

Another late night, it seemed.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Rimefang Longaxe let loose a throaty chuckle as he perused the latest batch of documents from Manager Goreclaw.

Truthfully Rimefang was positively _delighted_ by the innovative and ambitious female and was more than a little excited to have Manager Goreclaw’s Heiress become Lady Black.

And not just because acquiring Heather Potter meant that the House of Black’s finances would stay within the grasp of Clan Longaxe. 

Rimefang had been quietly terrified of the Malfoy spawn being accepted as Heir Black- or worse, Lord Black- because the Malfoy family had a Curator that had been vying for Manager status for a stone’s age.  With the current Lord Malfoy’s penchant for shady dealings, blackmail, and bribery the man and his Curator were sort of stuck in the same mining cart.  Rimefang had fully expected- if the spawn had been Heir- for the Malfoy Curator to invoke Article Seventy, Section V of the post-Statute _Guidelines for Wizarding Account Management and Advancement Treaty_. 

Essentially, it would allow the Curator to supplant Clan Longaxe entirely, which meant that all the Oaths and failsafes that Clan Longaxe had been duty-bound to uphold since Knifefang Longaxe first swore fealty to the House of Black in the early twelfth century would be lost.  There were the standard Gringotts oaths and some failsafes were woven into the Black Family Magics, of course, but in terms of business and confidences Clan Longaxe would be stuck between their Stoneblood Oaths and their Fealty Oaths.  Important information would be lost forever as it would be entirely improper for a member of Clan Longaxe to approach the Malfoy spawn of their own initiative, but their oaths would not allow them to speak of such things before the Curator or Lord Malfoy.

It would-

It would be a _disaster._

A disaster that would allow the Curator and the current Lord Malfoy far too much leeway with the assets of the House of Black with essentially zero oversight or restrictions.

So Rimefang was _incredibly grateful_ that such a thing would not come to pass.

As a rule he didn’t mind Curators rising to the position of Manager, just as he didn’t mind Guardians rising to the position of Curator.  Working towards advancements and rising through the ranks were a part of life for a Stoneblood, no matter their occupation.  No, what Rimefang very much minded was upstart parasitic worms trying to burrow their way into Clan Longaxe business!

And looking at these business models- not to mention hearing Manager Goreclaw speak of the young Heiress- Rimefang was certain that his eldest son, Hoarfang, would acquire much glory for the Clan in the coming years.

So long as the Heiress approved his request to promote his son and make a lateral move to Advisor, but Rimefang was feeling fairly optimistic that she would.

Rimefang paused in his musings as he came across the last neatly bound packet of information from Manager Goreclaw.  As he read the proposal a shark-like grin spread over his face and by the time he made it to the second page, he barked out a hoarse, throaty chuckle.

Oh, _yes_.  There would be much glory for the Clan Longaxe in the days to come!

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather was dreadfully busy.

_Swamped_ , even.

Classes, research in the Library- finally making progress and her ‘schools of magic’ theory was holding up nicely-, game nights- watching purebloods fail at Jenga was sort of Heather’s new guilty pleasure- story nights, keeping up with Potter and Black business,  letter writing, letter responses, getting the letters the Weasley twins had written to Sirius and introducing Hedwig to them, tennis mornings, tennis Saturdays, alternate Saturday nights with the girls- with plenty of peacemaking efforts- visiting Hagrid often to chat and help with his spell work- Headmaster Dumbledore was tutoring the man personally- and accepting boxes of his lovely rock cakes (which she left for the elves; Tansy reported that they were quite popular with her Hogwarts kin since Hagrid’s magic thoroughly saturated the little cakes and made them feel warm and safe), and a hundred thousand other little things that saw her rising early and not stopping until she hit her pillow that night.

More than a few nights she had snuck up to Harry’s bed and crawled in with her twin, but she felt guilty leaving Sophie all by herself in the red dorm, so she tried to not indulge herself too often.

She and Harry had received knitted jumpers at breakfast from Molly Weasley the first week of October. 

Heather’s was a lovely green with little purple flowers while Harry’s was a red nearly as dark as Heather’s hair color.  They were both about two sizes too big and the Potter twins _adored_ them, much to all of the Weasley brothers’ not-so-secret delight.  Heather, in particular, liked to wear them while storytelling.  She was usually far too warm for such things, but the early winter chill seemed to seep into the common room faster than the roaring fires could curb it.

They had sent Molly a thank-you note on the back of a picture they’d had one of the upper years take of them wearing said jumpers.

But other than a few scattered landmark moments, time seemed to blur.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Nigel kept his face neutrally pleasant as the people he was being forced to deal with continued their ungrateful ranting.  Across the table his grandfather was giving the male Dursley his most disgusted customer-service smile.

_Honestly_.

The two men had come to the Dursley home to encourage them to take Heather’s offered funds and move.  From what Nigel could discern, things were going about how Heather had predicted, with the Dursleys being wholly unpleasant and sour until the bait- of them never having to see the Potter twins or magicals again- was put on the table.

Heather had approved up to fifteen thousand pounds for this venture, but Nigel was fairly certain that he and grandfather could get the greedy people to take a lesser amount so long as the two Potter retainers gave off an air of ‘it’s the best we can do’.

_Idiots_.

Truthfully, the men had far more nonmagical funds at their disposal than originally planned.

Heather had originally planned to convert twenty-four hundred galleons at the fixed rate of five pounds per galleon in order to offer the Dursley family roughly less than half of their estimated property value.  The value of Number Four hovered right at thirty-thousand pounds.  She hadn’t been thrilled at the idea of essentially ‘wasting’ money- given the fixed rate purposefully made converting wizarding money to nonmagical funds inconvenient- but she’d been firm about wanting to keep her and Harry’s bets hedged.

_Clever_.

Bixbite, however, had so been entirely unwilling to lose so much Potter money to the fixed exchange rate that the plucky Stoneblood lass had gone through entire _tomes_ of financial regulations until she found a set of regulations that suited her needs. 

She had had to go before the ICW’s Council for Financial Matters during their September session, but her well-crafted, technically sound argument had won the House of Potter a Fiscal Exception.

Those were _rare_. 

As in ‘one awarded every hundred attempts’ rare.

Which meant that the ICW Exchange had allowed for a certain amount of Potter galleons to be exchanged at market value instead of the fixed five-pound rate. 

Bixbite’s loophole hunting and subsequent favorable ruling meant that those same earmarked funds were exchanged at the market value of twenty eight point six pounds per galleon. 

The Manager had also been meticulous in her paperwork, funneling the funds through several different banks and culminating in an ‘inheritance’ that was based out of Switzerland, giving the Potter accounts a nice nest egg of just over sixty eight and a half thousand dollars.  Switzerland was important because the financial rules would ensure that the inheritance wouldn’t interfere with other matters- such as needing to pay back the stipend the Dursleys had collected from the Crown.

Nigel was a barrister and Bixbite’s paperwork trails gave _him_ a headache sometimes!

His attention snapped back to the present just as the elder Dursley had begun to bluster importantly only for grandfather to cut him off.  “Oh, dear me.  Did I forget to mention the real estate incentives?”  Grandfather shook his head in faux-disapproval as he withdrew a packet from his briefcase.  “My client wished to make your move smoother, so we have done some research into potential neighborhoods-“

The woman- Petunia- fairly snatched the packet out of grandfather’s hands.

She tore it open and withdrew the sheaf of neatly stapled, typed papers, and glossy photos.  Heather had actually put them together herself- claiming she knew how Petunia Dursley’s mind worked- after requesting the raw materials and hand-writing the summary parts for Liv to type up all nice an neatly. 

There were only four properties that Heather had thought would suit Petunia Dursley’s idea of a proper upgrade, and thus those four had been the ones Liv had gathered in-depth information for, which Heather had converted into a rough template that Liv and the Montforts made aesthetically pleasing.

Based on Heather’s neatly written recommendations.

And given the unholy look of want the woman gave the second and third property information packs, Nigel was once again reminded that Heather was rather _scary_ with how accurately she could predict these people and their reactions.

And it was a bit scary.

Heather seemed to hold none of the inherent family bias that all children had.  Little quirks that were a product of innocence and having ‘always done’ certain things a ‘certain way’.  Heather seemed to have none of those little inexperience markers; instead seeing the house she’d grown up in as a battleground or gladiator arena as opposed to a safe place. 

Nigel had seen similar cases, of course, there were no shortage to shitty home situations in the world, it seemed.  He hadn’t met any other child who hailed from a borderline abusive situation who then turned around and handled a back-up plan involving aforementioned individuals with the sort of ruthless pragmatism as Heather Potter, though. 

And it bothered him a bit, because the girl was _eleven_.

Nearly a Lady in her own right or not, the girl was a First Year student.  A kind and generous First Year student who loved her little brother and those she considered ‘hers’ fiercely, and it just seemed _so unfair_ that such a kind girl hadn’t had a childhood _at all_.

Nigel was well aware that once innocence was lost, there was no use of trying to shove a blossom back into its bud.  That just wasn’t how the world worked.  And so it was just a bit sad to him, as the Durselys finally capitulated and the papers were put in front of them to sign, that out of all the people in wizarding Britain who fairly worshiped the ‘Boy Who Lived’ it had taken his sister stepping into the role of an adult two decades early to keep Harry Potter from becoming a political hostage. 

Because that was what he would have been- a hostage; with only this horrid family as an alternative to those who would seek to use him for their own gain, good intentions or no.  Possibly he would have met a family who cared for him, but even then the family would feel a socio-economic impact based on the public’s opinion of him, which was a dangerous game to play for any celebrity, let alone an adolescent. 

Let alone an adolescent from a home life like this, that taught him that everything was his fault.

It could have been so destructive for him and everyone around him.  It would have-

Ah, well.

At least Harry had his sister.  

And if Nigel held a slight grudge against everyone who tutted opinionatedly about the ‘Boy Who Lived’ or gossiped about Heather Potter in his presence for the rest of his life- well, that was his business.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――


	12. Immovable Object Meets An Unstoppable Force

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather sighed heavily and shifted her satchel a bit as she made her way towards the Library.  The stone halls of the Castle were chilly in the late October afternoon and the lighting was dim, given the overcast gloom outside.

Hogwarts was much brighter from dinner until curfew.  That’s when all the chandeliers and wall sconces were turned on.  But during the day a lot of the lighting in the halls came from the overabundance of glass-less windows, which was usually fully sufficient.

Just not on truly dismal days like today where the clouds were pretty much black.

‘ _I hate Thursdays_.’  Heather thought rather grumpily as she made her way towards the Library.

_Hopefully._

Thursdays were hard for Heather.  They had Astronomy at the asscrack of midnight- which was sort of cool, but mostly annoying- and they didn’t get back to the tower until nearly two in the morning.  By that point Heather was usually wide awake- the warming charms only did so much to keep the chill of the night air out- and so she set to work writing letters or working on her research projects as best she could, as ‘awake’ didn’t exactly mean ‘entirely coherent’.

She usually managed to get back to sleep sometime around four, but then she had to get up at seven-thirty and, oh boy was she _cranky_.

Heather usually kept her vocalizations down to grunts and hums until she could thoroughly drown herself in breakfast tea.  She knew herself and none of the thoughts in her head were anywhere near to pleasant, so she did her best to just keep her mouth firmly shut until she felt somewhat human again.

Thursday classes were Charms, Herbology, Transfiguration, and then DADA, in that order. 

She really liked Charms, though she felt that there were many unnecessary rules in the textbook.  Charms were naturally a bit more fluid and adaptive than Transfiguration, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at the textbook.  Heather could understand many of the warnings- like the ones on proper enunciation- but some of the rules seemed engineered purely to perpetuate the myth that there were no uncharted Charms’ territory to explore.  That the Charms spells were as strictly structured as Transfiguration, which was just plainly untrue!

Heather suspected Ministry-encouraged subterfuge.  No need to let the peasants knows they could potentially neatly sidestep Ministry rules and guidelines!

She might be just a tad paranoid.

Just a _smidge_.

Herbology was alright.  Mildly amusing, at least, and Heather grimly applied herself as the Potter business needed her to know the subject rather well, even if she wasn’t particularly personally enthused with the idea of coaxing acidic sticky sap from temperamental buds.

She did like to listen to Neville chatter excitedly about the subject, as he was her partner.  Heather couldn’t understand half of what he said, but watching him light up and animatedly babble about semi-murderous plant life was _adorable_.

Heather was passable at Transfiguration, but she quickly grew bored with the simple, cookie-cutter assignments and her mind wandered, meaning her spells had interesting effects sometimes while idly she pondered the full potential of such simple magics.  Like the needle-dagger she’d accidentally made today instead of a regular needle.  Thursdays were usually remedial classes, designed to test their casting speed and precision. 

Today they had all been together in Transfiguration- Assistant Professor Shacklebolt was apparently off on ‘apprentice business’- and Professor McGonagall had congratulated Heather on her needle-sword’s detail, but deducted points for not properly staying on task.

DADA was Harry’s time to shine, really.  He was _brilliant_ at defensive and offensive magic! 

Heather was alright with both schools of magic, and she could perform the spells easily enough, but- like in Transfiguration- her mind tended to wander.  She wasn’t a strategic genius by any means, but she did like backup plans and then another set just to be safe.  So she was usually thinking about what charms could be applied to the surroundings or an opponent’s clothes in addition to the simple jinxes they were _supposed_ to be practicing or learning about and she came off as…..ditsy.  

Or as not paying attention, like today.

She’d been held after class and had needed to explain her lapse in attention, though Professor Quirrell had been kind enough to rescind her original detention and simply add an extra fifteen-inch essay due next class.

It was so _frustrating_ to Heather, though!

Because she was older and- at least somewhat- more mentally disciplined and yet she was having _so much trouble_ forcing herself to focus on things she _knew_ she _needed_ to do.  Like keep up her physical condition and read through book after book after book to somehow prepare herself for the simmering tension with Voldemort to spill over into reality.

The fiend wasn’t dead and still had fanatically loyal followers. Heather was realistic enough to accept the fact that some sort of confrontation was bound to happen between the devoted blood purists and her brother sometime between now and graduation.  The Ministry being entirely ineffective and perhaps actively hostile was also a possibility she was trying to plan for.

And to pay attention in class!

Heather ran into a dead end and cursed.  “ _Fuck_!”

“Now that’s not very ladylike.”  A voice drawled behind her and Heather closed her eyes and prayed for patience.

Assistant Professor Yaxley. 

Just what her day had been missing.

“Professor.”  Heather managed through gritted teeth, turning to face him and purposefully not physically reacting when she took in the situation.

Assistant Professor Yaxley was standing with his back to the stairs she had just left- and oh hell, she could see the actual Library hallway from here!- but he also had five or six older teens with him that were blocking her in.  The way the stone walls curved meant that they were blocking her from view as well.

“Heiress Potter.”  He all but purred, stalking forward and circling her.

Heather felt more angry than scared, to be honest.

Objectively she should be scared, but all of her frustrations were piling up and she just couldn’t spare the emotional energy.

So, anger it was.

“Is there something you need Professor?”  Heather asked the man pointedly, loosening her stance a bit and deliberately not crossing her arms.

“Ah, I was just wondering if you understood the harm you’re doing to our mutual friend.”  The man said, stopping in front of her and looming over her short frame. “Dear little Sophie.”

Her anger ratchetted up a notch and it took great effort to not just ball up her fist and punch him in his nether regions.  “Oh?”  She managed to grit out, pasting a sickly sweet smile on her face.  “And what would give you that impression?”

The man affected an aggrieved expression.  “Why, the longer she stays here and pretends she belongs the fewer options she has!”  He shook his head sadly and gave Heather a truly mournful look.  “I’m only trying to help her.  If she gets dropped from Hogwarts officially she’ll not be worth nearly as much!”

Heather drew in a shaky breath, so angry she couldn’t think straight.  “If you think-”  She said slowly as she took a step forward and closed the distance between them.  “-that I’m not going to support my friend wholly and completely, regardless of her school of choice, you are _dead wrong_.”

Heather was officially cross. 

Scratch that, she was _incensed_.

(With all the fury of a hurricane falling upon an unsuspecting ship alone in the ocean.  Or the eruption of a volcano that’s ends ash and debris miles into the air above.  Like the wrath of an icestorm bearing down on an isolated home in the Artic wilderness.)

Assistant Professor Yaxley continued, detailing his plans to ‘help’ Sophie as his thugs shifted restlessly and stared at her with looks that would make a lesser man quail.  Their eyes traced her form with a perverse sort of desire that should have made her sick to her stomach.  They rolled their wands in their hands idly, the promise of violence to her person in their eager, malicious expressions.

But Heather’s anger only grew. 

Grew and multiplied and agitated, like dye in a washing machine mid-cycle.

Then Assistant Professor Yaxley went so far as to say, “-and you wouldn’t want anything to happen to your brother, would you, dear?  Why accidents happen in this castle all the time.  And the other Professors are so terribly busy, why I would be delighted to supervise his detentions.  Just a whisper to Professor Snape- he’s my Master, you know?- and-“

Because Yaxley couldn’t get to Sophie.  Not with Heather’s claim on her being open knowledge, and all of his assigned detentions being rerouted to Assistant Professor Shacklebolt as a matter of decorum.

But Harry was a boy and not subject to those same rules, and Professor Snape had already assigned detentions to Harry, but they had all been rerouted or overturned thanks to Apprentice Healer Talmhach.  It would just take _one day_ when Harry was feeling cheeky or a comment about Heather in front of Harry, too low for Apprentice Healer Talmhach to hear and then her brother would be in the hands of Assistant Professor Yaxley for at least an hour if Heather didn’t move fast enough to counter it.  Or if her challenge was overturned.

Or even an altercation with Draco Malfoy- who was still an _obnoxious little asshole_ \- in the hallways.

Assistant Professor Yaxley reached out to cup her cheek in a twisted parody of a gentle gesture, crooning promises of taking care of everything if she’d just stop being so stubborn.  No man wanted a radical feminist savage for his Lady-wife. 

What would his friends think of him then?

Really, she should just let him help her, she obviously had no one else who cared enough to put her in her proper place.

(“’I’ll take care of you like no one else can.’ Is.  A.  Lie.”  Before-her whispered furiously to her first boyfriend- the only one she’d had before she’d met her husband- when he’d showed up at her door spewing that worn out old line.

He’d cheated and lied and twisted her mind against her and they’d only been dating about a year.  But it had been her senior year of high school and her first six months in the wild and he’d been much older than her.  Her former Sunday School teacher and a ‘good man’ according to everyone she knew.  A Preacher’s son with a tragic backstory and a taste for young girls who didn’t know a damn thing about how the world outside worked.

It had taken _months_ of doubting herself and hitting a metaphoric brick wall inside her own mind while he all but flaunted affairs and made her attend church services with him, like a dutiful little almost-wife.  All the while griping about her weight and her lack of desire to party and her not paying for anything- though she paid for just about everything- and how she shouldn’t smile at other men and-

“You left me, remember?  You couldn’t date someone who had to move back to their hometown and find shift-work.  You broke up with me over the phone, two weeks after I moved back- because I had to drop out of the college I never wanted to attend; one that I was entirely unprepared for and couldn’t afford- after you promised not to let it break us.”  She snapped at him fiercely, pushing him outside of her apartment door.  “You chose to leave and for the first time in forever I kind of like me.  So _stay gone_ , _asshole_.”

Then she’d shut the door, locked all three of its locks, fell face-first on her couch- that he hadn’t wanted her to buy and had called her stupid for wanting- and bawled.)

Something inside Heather snapped.

_Literally_.

She felt it break, somewhere in the vicinity of her chest and it _hurt_.  Hurt like a healing piercing or hearing the words ‘mama’s not coming come anymore, little one’ or-

-and the next thing she knew she was blinking up at the Headmaster’s concerned gaze, though he was a fair distance away from her.

“Heiress Potter.”  The Headmaster said quietly.  “Please calm down.”

Calm down?!  She was perfectly-

_Oh_.

Suddenly the liquid fire roaring through her veins dimmed a bit, slowly pulling back bit by bit as she took in the scene around her.

Assistant Professor Yaxley was on an old=world styled  stretcher, the hand he’d held against her cheek blackened and smoking.  His compatriots were all unconscious in various stages of bruised and banged up. The Headmaster and Madam Pomfrey were both there and there seemed to be a ward in place keeping other curious onlookers out.

“ _Heather_!”  She heard her brother howl from what sounded like half the castle away, voice strangely distorted and distressed.

She tried to move her head but it just felt so _heavy_.

The next thing she knew Harry’s small hands were patting at her face and her brother was leaning over her, eyes wide with panic.  “Say something!”  He begged, and his voice was still strangely distorted.

And his eyes were somehow brighter than normal.

“’ry.”  She slurred, smiling up at him, strangely whimsical.  “’eyes ar’ pwetty.”

Harry laughed, a choked and strangled sound, as he wrapped his arms around her as tight as they could go and clung to her with all of his strength. 

Heather faded in an out after that, only really cognizant of Harry’s warm, familiar, comforting presence beside her, the fire somehow replaced her blood still churning restlessly, as if eager to find an outlet.  A target.

But Harry was here and safe, so it wasn’t needed.

_‘Silly fire.’_

Something feathery landed on her stomach, causing Harry’s arms to spasm strangely.

“Pwetty!”  She giggled happily as she sluggishly moved her untrapped hand and ran deadened fingers over the fiery looking feathers.  “Wam’”  She pronounced delightedly as the bird allowed her to scratch under its chin.

Then it opened its beak and began to croon.

Heather dropped into a dreamless sleep nearly immediately.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Arcturus Black could count the number of times he had been entirely in agreement of Albus Dumbledore’s actions on one hand.

And this wasn’t one of them.

_Sort of._

Arcturus appreciated the Headmaster’s swift response to Heather’s accessing the Black Family Magic.  The Lord Black had felt it because he was the Lord and Master of the Family Magics, and he’d Floo’ed to Hogwarts shortly thereafter, being granted entrance by the Headmaster via a House Elf.

His lips curled up in a vindicated smile.  He had chosen his Heir well, it seemed.  He hadn’t doubted himself, but confirmation was always appreciated.

The last time the Black Family Magic had fully manifested- including summoning forth the House Avatar- was during the time of Arcturus’ great-great grandfather.

Yes, Arcturus had chosen his Heir quite well.

What he didn’t appreciate was the fact that that Yaxley whelp and his…… _associates_ were not going to be expelled.  Given, Yaxley was an Apprentice, not a traditional student, but even still.

Heather had felt threatened enough that she had unleashed the might of the Black Family Magic against the man!

Which was fairly unheard of.

Arcturus was slightly mollified that the man would lose his right arm entirely and the aging Lord Black hoped the man enjoyed the understated effects of having the Magics being turned against him.

Blacks were vindictive enough in life, tempting the imprints they left behind was never a good idea.

That wasn’t even taking into account the full rage of young Harry and the Potter Magics.  Because if the twins were attuned enough to one another for Harry to sense Heather’s magical distress, then it was likely that the Potter Magics had left their own mark on Yaxley as well.

And the associates.  Though their consequences would be subtler.

_Pity._

Ah, well.  Perhaps now the younger generations would remember that magic was not a _toy_. 

Magic was volatile and primal! 

There was good reason why Spellcrafters were so few and far between.  And why making entirely new spells- and not just variants of existing ones- was so exceedingly rare.  The mortality rate of Spellcrafters was higher than _any other magical profession_!

No, magic was _dangerous_ when provoked and as a pureblood that Yaxley whelp had been plenty aware of the possible consequences of his impropriety. 

Heather, as an Heiress in her own right, was subject to the same laws and restrictions as any other Heir and any child raised in their world would have known what that meant.

Pureblood marriage customs were a strange mix of all the influences the Isles had seen in their history. The House of Black’s marriage customs in particular were far more focused on the social and political responsibility of each individual than personal preference.  It was a bit convoluted and confusing, but for a strong marriage bond to be forged- which would ensure powerful primary successors- both parties had to be pure.

Not in that ridiculous knut-store fantasy rubbish manner, but in _magic_.  Rather, magic forged a bond with intimate partners and much stronger ones with the first few.    

It was in the nature of magic itself, as a primal force that often transcended logic and reason.  _People_ gave magic rules and neat boxes, but that was only to make harnessing a fraction of magic’s potential easier.  Simpler and more able to be controlled and regulated.  But _magic itself_ had never changed; only adapted a bit here and there as generation after generation returned to the earth and their magic returned to the land and the Family.

Successive generations of tradition had ‘taught’ magics- specifically the Family Magics- that the first few intimate partners were of particular importance.  It was something that a lot of purebloods had resented the muggleborns for, because a muggleborn could have previous intimate partners and still be capable of forging a profound marriage bond, as their magic didn’t know the ‘rules’.   But a pureblood or half-blood that carried sufficiently established Family Magic would not have such a safety net, as their magic would react much differently. 

A pureblood fathering a child whose mother carried to term and then refused to acknowledge was a grave insult to that pureblood family.  It was a bold statement from the mother- and witches usually had a terrible time conceiving at all- that essentially told all and sundry that the father had broken the Sacred Rules.

Because, technically, there was no such thing as a bastard child.  There were fathers and mothers who broke the laws and were subject to fines, but the children themselves were not any less able to inherit based on their circumstances of birth. 

To get around this loophole more pureblood families would pay _both_ fines and then the indebted part would end up as a penal slave to the House.    And never told of their rights, naturally.  Occasionally an exceptionally bright witch of wizard- such as young Olivia- would do their research and side-step the issue.  In Olivia’s case, the House of Potter had paid the fine directly to Gringotts- transferring the money directly to the Vault of Societal Responsibility- and allowing Gringotts to withhold the information from the Ministry for up to a year from the fine being paid.

There were plenty of loopholes for those who knew to look for them.

Granted, not many knew such a thing and most actively worked to keep the situation murky and obscured.  It was why the acquisition of ‘concubines’ or ‘lesser wives’ was so common.  Because a child from either of those sources were subject to different inheritance rules.  So then the Lords- or other members of their family- could have their affairs and not risk their line of succession, circumventing the whole fine business entirely.

And it wasn’t always the men!  A fair few ladies had their own ‘companions’ and spent time a suspicious amount of time ‘traveling’ or ‘on holiday’.  As a matter of fact, Bellatrix’s marriage agreement had allowed her to have up to three ‘companions’ of her choice at any given time.  Cissy, unfortunately, had not been given the same considerations.  But then, Cissy had opted for protection clauses over comfort ones which was likely why she was still alive and well, honestly.

Cissy had always been terribly practical.

At any rate, the Yaxley runt _knew_ that Heather was an Heiress and yet he tried to push the boundaries of propriety anyways and this was his due reward.  No noble, regardless of their feelings on blood status, would support House Yaxley if they tried to press the issue- at least no House with sense.  And that was only if the Headmaster allowed such a thing, which did not seem likely.

Therefore the Headmaster allowing the whelp and his little coconspirators to stay at Hogwarts was an insult to House Black- technically House Potter- and Heather, herself.  As it sent the message that an assault on her person by a member of the faculty and at least three of-age wizards was tolerated.

Arcturus gripped the head of his cane tighter, his knuckles turning white.  “Are you telling me.”  The Black Lord drawled slowly, his eyes boring into Dumbledore’s own.  “That you do not see an attack on my granddaughter’s person as worthy of punishment?”

“Not at all, Lord Black.”  The Headmaster replied evenly, perfectly calm and poised.  “They will all be duly punished, I assure you.  And young Apprentice Yaxley will spend the rest of his life regretting his rash actions.  But to expel them would be to set them on an even darker path and as an educator I cannot allow such a thing to occur.  The purpose of this institution is to educate, not to pass judgement.”

As a Lord, Arcturus knew the employment possibilities for someone who was expelled from Hogwarts.

Which were essentially……….none.  Not even among their own Family because appearances were _important_.

But as a grandfather and the Lord of the aggrieved party, he was entirely unimpressed.  As a Hogwarts matter the problem could only be brought before the Council of Nobles by the Headmaster’s leave.

Hogwarts was Dumbledore’s domain, as was his right as Headmaster. So Arcturus would bow to the man’s judgement, but there would be a reckoning for those who had harmed his Heir, even if they had only known her as Heiress Potter.

“Very well.”  Arcturus growled.  “But I will be taking Heather and Harry home to Blackmoor Hall for the weekend.  And I trust that you will announce that this is a Family matter to the other children?”

The Headmaster nodded reluctantly.  “Of course, Lord Black.  Though I will need permission from Madam Black.”

Just then a Mimsy popped in.  “An urgent letter for yous, Lord Black!”

_‘Cassie always did have a flair for the dramatic.’_   Arcturus thought fondly as he quickly broke the seal, checked the contents, and then handed the letter over to the headmaster.

“Sophie.”  Heather suddenly murmured from the couch, where the twins were seated together.  “He wants Sophie.  Gotta protect….’er.”  Her words slurred as Fawkes began to croon again and she fell back to sleep.

Just like that, Arcturus understood the situation rather clearly.  Give Heather’s letters, the incident, and his Family Magic provided insight.

“And we will require my granddaughter’s roommate’s presence as well.”  Arcturus pronounced firmly, giving the Headmaster a challenging glare.

Dumbledore sighed heavily, and he glanced from Arcturus to the twins and back several times before he reluctantly nodded in agreement.  “Young Heather has proven to be very interested in her roommate’s wellbeing, so I will allow this.”  The man flared his not-inconsiderable power and graced Arcturus with a firm glare.  “I trust my student will not come to harm under your watch, Lord Black?”

“I will protect your student as I protect my own.”  Arcturus replied, sealing the verbal magical pact.

“Very well, then.”  The Headmaster replied, his gaze still sword-sharp and piercing.  “I expect them back no later than breakfast on Monday morning.  The Floo password will be ‘Gobstoppers’.”

Across the room, Harry snorted in amusement, causing the Headmaster to flick him a quick smile.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Dumbledore took a moment to slip his glasses off his nose and rub at his eyes tiredly.

What a day it had been.

First off, he’d been up late in to the night- well, early morning, really- reading over some ICW matters.  The many varied and disconnected magical governments and the unique laws of each magical enclave requiring extensive fact-checking and notations in his ICW Journal so he would be fully prepared for the next session. 

Technically the next session was scheduled to be April the twentieth of the upcoming year, but an emergency session wasn’t out of the question and as the Supreme Mugwump Albus had to keep on top of the pressing issues of the global magical societies or he risked overlooking the sneaky, sly details that might cause offense and unrest in the General Assembly. 

Last session the Aztec of Mesoamerica- related to but not precisely the same as the nonmagical counterparts- had only _just barely_ forgiven Ambassador García- the appointed ambassador to the ICW from the Magical Kingdom of Galicia; which was the largest of modern Spain’s magical enclaves- for a poorly-worded bill aimed at restricting the breeding grounds for a particular breed of magical dahlia flowers.  Specifically, to certain Galician Families or requiring a quite expensive, yearly-renewed license from the Galicia government to grow and sell the common, though potent and quite useful- not to mention visually lovely- flowers internationally. The flowers were native to the Mesoamerica regions and the Aztec- as the largest of the Mesoamerican enclaves- kicked up the loudest fuss over the insult.

Albus had researched the matter and thus had spotted the potential conflict early on in the session.  It had taken some quick actions and selective hearing but he had managed to soothe the issue over.  Yet there were a _hundred thousand_ other small insults that he had to stay on top of, or the entire General Assembly would bog down in petty grudges and childish tantrums.

_Again_.

The late sixties and early seventies had been a _nightmare_.  Partly why it had taken him so long to organize a resistance to Voldemort, as Albus had been up to his spectacles in international hissy-fits at least every other week.

But, he digressed.

Albus had been regretfully awoken by his personal elf, Socks, at the unholy hour of five in the morning because Cornelius Fudge was in the Floo.  So Albus had dragged his weary bones out of bed and to his office proper to see what the Minister felt was so urgent.

The Headmaster had grumpily suspected another machination of Lucius Malfoy.

And he’d been correct, so he rewarded himself with a lemon tart as he sat behind his desk and brooded, the night curtains drawn on the portraits of Headmaster’s past so he wouldn’t have to deal with their unsolicited advice so early in the day.

The Board of Governors was a twelve-person oversight committee formed in 1689.  As with most changes in that era, it had been due to the Statute and the ICW. 

Hogwarts was still neutral territory and the rightful Headmaster her Master.  In nearly all things Hogwarts was its own authority in matters that occurred on the grounds. 

The Board’s function was primarily to ensure compliance with ICW directives- which filtered down through the Department of International Cooperation and the Wizarding Examinations Authority- and allocate Ministry funds to the school, as per Statute Mandate Number Thirteen that stated ‘all wand-capable witches and wizards, at the expense of the regional government, will be formally educated for at least eighteen months in an accredited institute or by a properly qualified Tutor in order to be fully informed and able to preserve the Statute of Secrecy’.

Due to long-standing prejudices, laws were passed in the Wizengamot to circumvent that order or stretch it as far as the ICW’s Legal Division would allow without sanction.

Still, the Board _did_ have the power to oust a sitting Headmaster and pass Referendums about what classes could and could not be offered.  Technically they were also supposed to be advocates for parents who felt dissatisfied with a decision made by the Headmaster about an incident, but such a thing very, very rarely occurred.  And usually when it did, it was mostly Old Family biases trying to cast doubt on a victim of ‘lesser’ blood-status.

And, as was the case in question, the Board could demand that a particular student be produced to prove their wand-using capabilities.

Lucius Malfoy wanted Sophie Roper to appear before the Board and be tested by an outside- read: bribed- Healer and assessed ‘properly’ as a ‘high-standing member of the faculty’ had reported the girl’s ‘troubles’.

First of all, this reeked of Severus spitefully trying to sabotage the Potter twins in a way that did not trigger his oath. 

The man was bitter and spiteful and after Lily’s death had seemingly punished every muggleborn student to grace his class.  It was exasperating, spiteful, and vindictive.  Albus regularly cautioned the man against such a course of action, but Severus liked to point out that it was good for his cover and that Potions-related fatalities had decreased to nearly nothing from an average of three per year since his tenure had begun.

Grudgingly, Albus usually conceded the point.

But this was rather needlessly cruel.

Unlike young Neville Longbottom- whose wand issues were from an improperly bonded wand- young Miss Roper scored less than four on the Hectara Scale of Magical Output, which was assessed by the first few weeks’ worth of tests in Charms and Transfiguration.  First Year students with healthy magic averaged about ten, and the fact that young Miss Roper’s initial score- in her first Charms class- had in fact decreased indicated an unstable core unsuited for a wand conduit.

Ariana had been a two.

Unfortunately, as the Board allocated funding, they could vote to expel a student who scored less than an eight on the grounds of the student failing to meet the bare minimum requirements of the _Ministry’s_ guidelines for incoming Hogwarts students.

And if Albus balked at their demands to expel a student things could get truly ugly.  Such a situation was how the Ministry had gotten a foot in the door in terms of being allowed to observe Hogwarts’s operations in order to ‘ensure the money being paid to our chosen institution of education remains well-invested’.

Being expelled from Hogwarts was more than just getting kicked out of ‘a school’.  It severely hampered a student’s chances of gainful employment.  In terms of appearances, being expelled from Hogwarts was a hairsbreadth away from being publically exposed as a squib; and the political and social consequences of such a fall from grace were nearly _astronomical_.

In many ways appearances mattered far more than the objective truth of a situation in wizarding Britain.

Sophie had received a Letter, which made her a citizen of magical Britain, which precluded her from returning to her former accommodations, despite her disability.  Sophie had not been educated for eighteen months and thus was in an especially precarious position because she met the qualification of ‘wand capable’ by the ICW’s standards, but not by the Ministry for Magic’s biased criteria. 

It was partly why Albus had allowed her to go with the Potters and Blacks; because Sophie would _need_ a Sponsor or the Ministry could and would force her- well, they’d find one for her.

“Good, upstanding citizens taking care of the unfortunate members of our society.”   Was usually the party line that garnered public support for such cases and then those students disappeared into the well-protected realm of ‘internal Family matters’.

Which tied in to why he hadn’t expelled Heather’s attackers.

Make no mistake, Albus was positively _furious_ with Roland Yaxley and the six other Sixth and Seventh Years who thought that they could corner an eleven year old girl in the halls of _Albus’_ _school_ and coerce her to do their bidding.

As Headmaster, Albus had always done what he could to help prevent the trading of young children to Families as concubines, mistresses, or companions.  Consorts were another thing entirely, but the other three were a major issue for muggleborn, half-bloods, and poor purebloods with no greater House protections.

It was a complicated and messy state of affairs.

Yet it seemed that for every loose end or crack he sealed up, three more appeared.  That didn’t prevent him from _trying_ , of course, but he was honest enough to admit that such deplorable practices still happened despite his and his staff’s diligence.

From what little he’d managed to glean from Miss Roper before he’d sent her off with the Blacks and Potter twins, such a thing had been the catalyst to Roland Yaxley and his brutes cornering Heather and causing her to unleash the protective fury of her House magics against them.

Albus paused in his massaging of his forehead to make a note to revoke Severus’ right to introduce new students for at least two years.  Minerva sometimes ran short on time in the summer, as she had Headmaster duties in addition to her Deputy duties, and thus she occasionally had to delegate students to Severus, as the only other available Head of House.  Pomona travelled a great deal in the summers and Filius tended to be out of contact entirely until a week before term was set to begin.  He’d have to arrange something else- perhaps Craig Abbot could be utilized, as the man was Pomona’s choice for a successor when she eventually retired?- but Severus delegating his task to young Apprentice Yaxley would earn the taciturn Potions Master a stern reprimand and loss of privileges. 

Albus would need to carefully consider Severus’ punishment as Severus required a light touch to truly be made to feel remorse- or at least extreme inconvenience- for something he truly didn’t care about.  But perhaps volunteering the man to make potions for Saint Mungo’s, pro bono, would be a good punishment?

Severus was a dear friend and Albus trusted him with his very life, but that didn’t mean they always saw eye-to-eye.  On the contrary, they often argued about even the smallest matters, but that did not make the other man any less dear to Albus.  Age had a tendency to mellow and mature men far more stubborn and bitter than Severus, and Albus hoped that the other man would have an epiphany and start to heal someday.  There was light yet in Severus, the other man just had to believe he deserved to reach for it.

But, back to the matter of not expelling young Heather’s attackers.

If he expelled them and sent them home, they’d be martyrs.  Wounded heroes who had been sacrificed on the altar of ‘Dumbledore’s muggle loving ideals’ or ‘blood traitor pacification’. 

They would be rewarded behind closed doors and then maligned in tea shops and beauty parlors to keep up appearances; Heather was Heiress Potter and save for the most coldblooded purebloods, most would refuse to do business with a Family that condoned attacking an Heiress by right and magic.  And even the most hardnosed purebloods would only deal with such a Family in a clandestine manner.  The expelled students’ only recourse would be more-than-slightly illegal work and-

Well.  Nothing good ever came of that.

If he kept them here at Hogwarts, however, they would still be inside Dumbledore’s realm of influence.   Subject to many different viewpoints and the judgement of their peers, who would likely be receiving pointed instructions from home on how to treat the culprits.  They’d find themselves isolated and distanced from those who had previously called them friends. 

The first thing, Dumbledore had done after he’d reached the infirmary was restrict their wand privileges.  Each student was granted the right to use magic in Hogwarts upon their Sorting.  It was Olde Magick tied to the wards and activated by their placement in a House and part of the mechanism that allowed the wards to grow in power with each successive generation of students.

Save for the past half century, but the wards were already beginning to slowly increase in power since the Horcrux had been removed.  It would take a century to fully repair the damage that fool had done to Albus’ school, but at least the foul artifact had been removed and the elves were now under strict orders to place any similarly feeling dark objects in a newly designated room in the staff-only areas of the dungeons that Albus and Filius would be warding with every protective enchantment they could get their hands on.

Possibly Severus as well.  Depending on how the man conducted himself over the next few weeks.  Knowing such a project was occurring and being forced to brew free potions for Saint Mungos might give the man some much needed perspective on things.

At any rate, only the Headmaster could revoke or restrict who could cast spells and very rarely did Dumbledore do so.  But in this case he had deemed such an action necessary and if the restricted students cast spells in a timeframe outside of their classes for anything less than self-defense- no matter whose wand they used- he would know and their punishment load would increase accordingly.

The majority of their remaining time at Hogwarts- and sovereign jurisdiction meant that Albus could extend their punishment length for up to seven years; one penalty year for every year at Hogwarts-  the young wizards would assist Hagrid or Mr. Filch in tasks that were specifically designed to make an emotional, mental, and physical impact on them.

Like scrubbing floors and walls late into the night and mucking out animal stalls early the following mornings.  Hauling buckets of fruit picked from the Groves or vegetables from the farms through the snow to the Kitchens before peeling potatoes with knives that would only harm their assigned fruit or vegetable.  Chasing down cows- Hogwarts cows were rather notorious for escaping the wards and grasslands to go wandering about- and feeding the uneaten food from meals to the pigs, one heavy bucket at a time.  Collecting feathers from the chicken coups and operating the old masher- to make bile cubes from different animals- to be used in potions or cosmetics or other things.

Yes, after a few weeks of such tasks and the social ramifications of their actions the young men might feel more than a bit differently about their unbecoming conduct.

Albus heard the Floo chime and he sighed softly, slipping his glasses back on his cooked nose and straightening up in his chair.

Duty called.

**\--XXX---**

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I haven't gotten around to replying to anyone from the last round- but here's new chapters, please don't hate me and know that your support is tremendously appreciated?


	13. Perspective

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

When Heather blinked her eyes open the first thing she felt was entirely calm and strangely at peace, staring up at a bed canopy that was familiar, yet not.

Then she noticed her arm felt like someone had injected it with an anesthetic.

Oh, wait. That was her brother. And Chromie was curled up on her other side while Mallie was sprawled out over the twins' legs.

Wait a second- was that _Snuffles_? How did he get to Hogwarts?

"Ah, you're awake." Someone said from off to the side.

"Aunt Cassie?" Heather croaked pitifully, finally realizing she was in her room at Blackmoor Hall. "What happened?"

Then, of course, Heather's mind chose to come back online.

'Oh….oh no!"

Heather closed her eyes and tried to quell her bubbling panic. "H-how much trouble am I in?" She whispered softly, all but certain that she'd _ruined everything_ and they were going to _take Harry away from her_ and what would happen to Sophie?! Had she been expelled? Had she gotten _Harry_ expelled?! And how much damage had she done to the Family-?

A wave of calm washed over her and it was only then that she realized she'd started crying.

"Calm yourself, dear. You're not in any sort of trouble." Aunt Cassie soothed, having come around to Chromie's side of the bed and dabbing at Heather's face with a handkerchief. "You defended yourself, as is your right. Those _grown men_ knew what they were doing when they chose to corner an eleven-year-old Heiress against all the rules of propriety-"

"I wasn't scared, though. I was angry." Heather whispered, as if speaking the truth softly would somehow make it any less real. "I was so angry that he thought he could just walk up to me and talk down to me- as if I couldn't make my own decisions! And then he threatened Harry and Sophie and I just-" Heather's voice broke and she screwed her eyes shut, hoping she could block out what happened next. "I just wanted him to know that he couldn't control me! That threatening those I care about was the last mistake he'd ever make! I wasn't scared, Aunt Cassie, I was-!"

"Good." Aunt Cassie proclaimed firmly, her lips curved into an approving smile. "That makes it even better!"

Heather's eyes flew open and she gave Aunt Cassie an incredulous look.

"Understand, dear, that even just as a daughter of House Potter- let alone the Heiress- you are entitled to a measure of protection." Aunt Cassie explained gently, wiping away stray tears and fussing with Heather's hair. "And the child of any noble line- such as all of the men who chose to attack you- would know that. Would have been fully informed of the fact that cornering you by yourself would leave them open to the fury of the Family Magics."

"But I-" Heather began, remembering Assistant Professor Yaxley's blackened arm- she'd _ruined_ his Potions career, hadn't she?

"But nothing." Aunt Cassie asserted firmly. "You did nothing wrong, dear. And anger is an entirely justified reaction to their abhorrent actions." Aunt Cassie gently tapped Heather's nose. " _You will not make excuses for your actions because you did nothing wrong_. Have I made myself clear?"

Heather closed her eyes and took a few deep gulps of air.

" _Assistant Professor_ Yaxley knew full well that you should not have been approached for any other reason other than school-related matters." Aunt Cassie continued quite severely, her tone brooking no argument. "And even then, only in the designated classroom or a Head of House or the Headmaster's office. There are Rules of Decorum that _all_ staff of Hogwarts are expected to follow in addition to the etiquette that families teach their children. In either case, you were well within your rights to retaliate against a calculated and deliberate assault on your person- whether mental, emotional, verbal, physical, or magical- with up to and including lethal and deadly force. You were quite restrained, honestly."

"But-" Heather tried to protest.

"'feather if a grown man cornered an eleven year old girl in an alleyway and she fought back, would you blame the girl?" Harry suddenly asked from her other side, startling Heather.

"Well- no." She admitted after thinking over the situation for a minute. "But, Har-bear, I _maimed_ him. All he did was cup my cheek and I-"

"He's an asshole who was trying to twist your mind with his words." Harry asserted firmly. "You said he threatened me and Sophie, right? Then he was basically trying to trap you into something. A grown man. Against a little First Year girl that barely comes up to his chest." Harry's eyes darkened and he scowled fiercely. "He might not have physically struck you but he was trying to intimidate you and you had _every right_ to defend yourself."

Heather again opened her mouth to argue that she'd reacted disproportionally, but Harry slapped a hand over her mouth.

"'feather, I swear by my pretty floral bonnet that I will find a way to call Gramps and Coach and Kris if you don't stop blaming yourself." He threatened seriously. "And you _know for a fact_ that the only thing Coach would be upset about is the fact you didn't kick his balls back in."

Aunt Cassie didn't even bother to correct Harry, instead intently studying her nails.

"Pup's right, flower." A rough voice said from further over, drawing Heather's attention to Sirius. "And, trust me, the jackass deserved worse."

He looked a bit better. Definitely not as skeletal and there was a glimmer of good humor in his grey eyes that spoke of him healing.

"Sirius!" Heather said brightly, earning a smile from the man and a hug that encompassed both twins and all three animals.

"Seriously, though, flower." Sirius told her from where he was half-draped over Harry and using Harry's head to rest his chin on. "There are rules, especially for acknowledged Heirs. He had no right-" Sirius' eyes darkened and he wrapped the twins up in another hug. "He had no right to try and coerce you into anything and whoever says otherwise can _go hang_."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her. "Believe me now, 'feather?"

"No." Heather retorted with a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. "But I think I'll get there."

**-XXX-**

Cassiopeia paused in the shadows of the doorway to Heather's private sitting room, just taking a long moment to appreciate the scene.

Heather's personal sitting room was mostly done in varying shades of blue, to match the rest of her suite's theme of 'oceanic', though not in a dreadfully overpowering manner. The fireplace was made of white stone, with seashells and other pretty sea trinkets decorating the mantle and surrounding area while a proud picture of the most infamous Black fleet of 'salvage' ships- the Lysdian Fleet- dominated the raised area above the mantle.

Magical piracy- also known as 'Marauding' in polite conversation- had been a House of Black mainstay until the mid-eighteenth century. Magical Piracy had fallen out of favor due to becoming 'tiresome' and 'tedious' when all the muggles began cluttering up the waterways and the Statue violation fines began to add up. There were a few operations still running, but most of those had been sold off to branch families near the turn of the current century. The house received tribute from their distant daughter lines, naturally, but the operations were largely autonomous.

Ah, she was reminiscing again. She'd been doing that a bit too often for her peace of mind lately.

Heather's sitting room walls were a lighter color while the fabric her mirrored settees and single loveseat- that formed sort of a rectangle with the fireplace- were white, dark blue, and seafoam green. There were also accent pillows and handsome rugs in several varying shades scattered about as well. Cassie was rather fond of the room's silver wrought iron- silver wrought iron had always been her preference over the black version, amusingly enough- and the etched relief of the oldest star chart in the Family's records on glass of the tea tabletop was quite lovely.

But as lovely as all the decorations were, that wasn't truly what held Cassie's attention.

Sirius, dressed in his favored red sleeping pants and a Gryffindor House emblazoned long sleeved shirt, was seated comfortably in the middle of the white settee, to the left of the fireplace, arms casually draped across the back. Heather was sitting, cross legged, to Sirius' right meaning that she was closest to the fireplace. The still tired-looking girl was clad in her own pajamas- with a fleece blanket placed over her lap for modesty- with her bossy feline curled up in her lap. On Sirius' other side was Harry, who was dressed in much the same manner as his godfather.

Both dogs were curled up on a plush rug near the fireplace. Cassie suspected that the older dog had pinned the excitable puppy down for a forced nap, given the way they were laying and Mallie's long-suffering air.

But it wasn't the clothes or animals that really caught Cassie's attention either.

It was the people.

Sirius was animatedly telling a story, occasionally moving an arm to emphasize something or tap Harry's nose or pull Heather closer to press a quick kiss to her temple. It was an intimate scene full of familial warmth and-

It nearly took Cassie's breath away.

The Family Magic swirled lazily, contentedly about the room. Wrapping itself around and through the laughing, talking occupants before sauntering off to deposit the warm, bursting impressions of _hearth_ and _home_ throughout the Black Family stronghold.

It was the first breath of spring after a long winter or the thrill of spiraling towards the sky on a well-loved broom.

Cassie dabbed at her eyes and tried to quash the need to cry. It was a wonderful thing to witness after so many long, cold years. Melania's unexpected and tragic death all those long years ago had all but smothered the warm undercurrent of _family_ in the Family Magics and it was beyond wonderful to witness the home fires flickering back to life.

They were still just sparks, too weak to yet be called a flame or fire.

But it was a damn good start.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Arcturus murmured softly at Cassie's side.

Having known he was there, Cassie merely nodded, not really trusting herself to speak just yet.

"I'm glad." Arcturus continued lowly, his gaze fixed on the figures on the settees. "I'm glad I was able to witness this before- well." The man gave Cassie a half-smile, joy and grief warring for dominance in his features. "I'll be certain to tell Melania that she was right."

"She'll give you that MacMillan _look_ and insist she always is, you old codger." Cassie managed to retort somewhat lightly.

"Too true, dear cousin." Arcturus laughed softly, gripping his cane and shuffling forward. "Too true."

**-XXX-**

"Heather, dear, we're not trying to tell you to stop what you've been doing." Cassie explained to the young girl patiently a little while after she and Arcturus had ceased lurking like a couple of nosy old biddies and taken the settee across from the trio. "Only that you are still quite young and while your mind is perfectly capable, your body needs more rest."

"Your mind does, too, flower!" Sirius interrupted cheerfully, but there was a worried crease to his brow. "You're _both_ incredibly smart! I can honestly almost hear James loudly bragging in the afterlife about how bloody brilliant his kids are from _here_ \- Lily, of course, was far more humble so she's likely pretending to try and hush him. Badly."

The twins both laughed and Sirius' whole countenance brightened, despite his mention of James and Lily.

Sirius had a terrible tendency of speaking as if James and Lily were silent specters watching the twins' every move, but it was progress. An incredible amount of progress considering how long he'd suffered in that hellhole prison.

"Be as that may-" Arcturus broke in firmly from beside Cassie. "-overworking yourself to the point of sickness is not a sign of dedication, it is a sign of obsession. Obsessing over matters does no good for anyone, and _least_ of all the person making themselves ill." Arcturus gave Heather a long, measuring stare. "Delegate and ask for help, granddaughter. Yes, sometimes putting forth your best effort requires late nights and long days of intense study, but only for short periods of time. Rest- _proper_ _rest_ and not another form of the same effort- is incredibly important to your development, your happiness, and the Family."

"There are a plethora of respectable, well-founded reasons why First Years are allowed so much free time." Cassie added sternly. "And while your dedication and drive are both commendable, you need to rest."

"But…there's so much I need-" Heather began, only for Sirius to casually clap a hand over her mouth.

Well, he reached his arm around her and put his hand over her mouth, squishing her up against his side. "I'm going to tell you something your mum once told me and your dad." Sirius said with an air of long-suffering, wry wisdom while he grinned down at Heather's mulish expression. "And that immutable tidbit of wisdom happens to be: delegate not regulate." Sirius let go of Heather's mouth and pulled both of the kids closer to him. "Basically, we had been working ourselves to exhaustion trying to find a way to shortcut the Animagi process, but we were doing it all wrong. Instead of splitting up the tasks required, we were trying to slog through it all _at the same time_." Sirius' grin turned softer and he pressed a quick kiss to each of the twins' hairline. "After she told us that little bit of wisdom, we split it up the individual tasks among us and then pooled the results of our research. _That_ was when we started actually making progress." Sirius tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. "Summaries done by a trusted source are entirely okay, kids. You don't have to be an expert at absolutely everything magic-related to be able to make good use of all of magic's brilliance."

"Precisely." Cassie agreed firmly. "Money is not an option when it comes to your health, dears." Cassie gave Harry a gimlet glare as well, just to be sure he understood that the same school of thought applied to him as well. "And you are not limited to merely one assistant. You may have several assistants each assigned to different tasks, or you might have a senior assistant that delegates your incoming tasks per your preferences, based on the skillsets of the others."

Heather leaned back a little and slipped off into thought.

When Heather stumbled over Cassie's intended solution, the woman smiled warmly. "Why I would be _delighted_ to be your Senior Assistant, dear. Thank you for asking."

Harry and Sirius sniggered against each other in the background, but Cassie paid them no mind. She exchanged a triumphant look with Arcturus as the two elder Black members left the younger ones to themselves, the twins raptly listening to a story about the time that Sirius, quite intimately, learned the important differences between a potion base, a salve brine, and an elixir base-ether solution.

And why it was a _very bad idea_ to use a Magenta Spectrum ether flame for an incorrectly based potion.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still super behind on replying to everybody!!
> 
> My apologies! My anxiety has been super overwhelming lately- but here's a new chapter and I adore all of you who have taken the time to read this story, let alone favorite/leave feedback on it!
> 
> Your steadfast support really does mean a great deal to me!


	14. Causation and Transitions

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather took a deep breath before she slipped the Potter Heir ring off her finger and clasped her brother’s forearm tightly, reciting the proper abdication ritual words and then listening to Harry’s perfectly scripted response.

She felt the loss of the warm weight of the Potter Magics- the keen awareness and intimate understanding of the Magics she received from the ring- keenly, like having to say goodbye to a childhood teddy bear or a favorite hand-crafted quilt.

It made her a bit teary-eyed but she smiled brightly at the look of contentment on her brother’s face as the Potter Family Magics all but sang with delight around and inside him.

She still felt a bit emptier.  Hollower. 

Like a spent firework cartridge on the Fourth of July.

A warm hand came down on her shoulder and she twisted her head to smile up at grandfather.  “Come, granddaughter.  We have much to do.”

Heather nodded to show she understood and gave her brother a tiny wave as she grabbed ahold of grandfather’s arm and they disappeared from the Potter office- where Bixbite had been invited to watch the transferal of the Heirship from Heather to Harry in addition to everyone else- only to arrive at an area of Blackmoor Hall’s grounds that she’d never seen before.

It was dull grey and made in the old style of precisely cut stones.  There were no decorations, save for a few still portraits and a couple of marble busts.  Otherwise it was an empty, windowless room about the size of Number Four’s living room.

Grandfather had said they would still be at Blackmoor Hall, though.  So she was guessing this area was underground.  Maybe under the Hall itself.

“We are near the Heartstone of the wards.” Grandfather told her gently as he held his hand up to a section of the wall.  Magic swirled round them both, dangerous for a single instant before welcoming them joyfully.  The seamless wall fell away, revealing a narrow set of stairs.   

Grandfather conjured a light and nudged Heather forward.

“These wards were originally laid down by the Celts.  Evidence points to this very land hosting a monastery for Druids at least once in ages long past.”  Grandfather narrated as they traveled down the steep steps.  “Then, of course, came the Romans and Vikings and Anglo-Saxons and a host of others.  Eventually, the land came to be under the control of Acwellen the Butcher.  Legend says that he murdered over a hundred innocent men simply because he was bored one evening.  He was a dishonorable tyrant and an even more depraved wizard.”

That was super creepy.  Did Heather really want to deal with this?

“His only surviving son, Aldwyn, fled while he was but a babe.  Spirited away by his mother to save him from his father.”  Grandfather continued as they steadily made their down the seemingly endless staircase.  “He returned, years later, the captain of a fleet of ships and laid siege to his father’s lands, chasing his father down when the coward tried to flee.”

They finally came to level ground in what felt like a tomb.

It was a roughly circular room, with deep gouges carved into the floor, celling, and walls.  Some were shallow, barely even visible while other were deep enough for Heather to break an ankle in.  In the center was a surprisingly humble looking collection of mid-sized boulders, arranged in a strange but consistent pattern.  The stones were carved with many different types of runes and characters that made exactly zero sense to Heather.

“This is the Heartstone, granddaughter.”  Grandfather breathed, voice strangely hushed.  “This entire room is the basis for the wards that have safeguarded the House of Black since the day Aldwyn the Liberator reclaimed them from his father and proclaimed the lands would be a haven for his children, in honor of his mother.”  Grandfather shuffled forward a bit and the magic of the room swirled around him.  “All of our accounts point to her having been executed quite gruesomely for her part in sending Aldwynn away.”

There was wind in a room with no windows.

Heather was officially about ninety-percent sure she wasn’t okay with this.

“His wife was a French witch who descended from a line of Roman Battle-Mages.  One of the few lines who survived the purges of the decline years.  It was her magic and expertise that helped cleanse the land of Acwellan’s wickedness.  It’s said to have taken three generations to fully rid the land of Dark Creatures and the relentless onslaught of Dark Beings who wished to make use of the land’s dark history for their own ends.”  Grandfather steadfastly continued as the winds flowed around Heather probingly. Searchingly.  “We were called the ‘family from the land steeped in darkness’.   And the family motto is ‘Toujours Pur’-“

“-for the land.”  Heather finished quietly. 

Grandfather smiled sadly as he draped a warm arm over her shoulder.  “Nearly.   To remind us of the horrors that came come about from the careless use of magic for evil purposes.  We have a rich and expansive history, granddaughter, but the darkness of Acwellan still exists and every Black must fight against the corruption that he left behind, even after all these long generations.  Many of the age group before you failed that crucial test, granddaughter.”  His gaze became unfocused.  “The true origins of our Family are only told to Lords and the last one to be brought down here was my Orion.  I wonder if….”  Grandfather shook his head firmly and readjusted so that he could pull a handsome wooden box out from his robes.  “This is yours, granddaughter.”

Heather reached out and took the box, strangely solemn and subdued.  She gently traced the elegant silver etching with her fingertips, wondering if she wanted to shoulder such a terrible past, to be party to it.

But-

But this magic had always been with her, hadn’t it?  It had protected her when she’d been in danger.

The magic was simply magic.  Swirling effervescent energy that protected, guided, and sheltered her.  It was what she chose to do with it that mattered.  How she directed it; what actions she chose to invest it in.

_‘You reap what you sow.’_

The magic of the chamber seemed to brighten; nearly singing though it never actually made a sound.

‘ _Okay_.’  Heather thought decisively, opening the box and admiring the thick silver band nestled within the dark silk.  The band held some sort of animal along the side while in the center was a wide black stone with the Family crest and the Family motto etched into it.  There were a few smaller gems that decorated the open space between the animal- it looked like some sort of winged creature- and the crest, but Heather couldn’t tell what they were by sight.

Jeweler she was not.

She removed the strangely warm ring from its lovely box and slipped it on to the pointer finger on her left hand.

Nearly instantly the fire in her blood that she’d been feeling off and on since the Incident, _roared_.  It swept through her veins unbridled, like a tornado tearing through fields of wheat.  

It tumbled, razed, and forged ahead, seemingly trying to overtake her.

‘ _No.  That’s not how this works_.’  Heather thought firmly, calling on her own willpower and forcing the chaotic magic rampaging through her body into compliance.

It felt like it took _years_.

Bit by bit she gently directed the energy to bend to her will instead of the other way around.  She didn’t want to break it and make it serve her unquestionably, but she did want it to _behave_.  So she slowly coaxed and prodded and cajoled the frenzied currents into semi-controlled streams. 

The more headway she made, the easier it became.

_‘See?  That’s not so bad, is it?’_   She asked herself stupidly as the magic began to flow smoothly along the same currents she usually could feel her magic moving through her.  It was rather disconcerting and weird to think about, but it was a part of her so it was sort of like standing on a leg that had fallen asleep and forcing it to move past the pins-and-needles sensation.

When her eyes fluttered open- and when had she closed them?- Grandfather was smiling widely at her, pride all but shining from the weathered cracks in his face.  “Congratulations, Lady Black.”  He informed her warmly.

His right hand- which held his wand- was held over his heart in a sort of official salute.  Heather could literally feel the Family Magic surge excitedly in acceptance of the words, and the grey walls and scarred stones seemed to somehow brighten.  As if they had finally released a long-held breath and relaxed into a secure embrace.

Then, of course, the _words_ registered with Heather’s muddled brain.

Heather did a double-take.  “What?!”  She yelped.

“Did you expect a ritual with blood and sacrifice?”  Grandfather asked her, seeming terribly amused.

She had an active imagination, okay?

Heather flushed a little and fiddled with the warm, heavy ring.  It was much weightier than the Potter ring had been.  And somehow colder.  Aged, she supposed thoughtfully.  The Potter Magics felt much younger, more unrestrained in the wild manner of reckless youth than the more matured tint of the Black Magics. 

But the ring and the Magics swirling around the small chamber eagerly still sort of felt like sipping hot cocoa in the windowseat of Number Three, watching the snow dance outside the window.  With the sounds of her family close enough to hear, but far enough away for her to not feel crowded.  It was Nana Anna’s conspiring giggling with Harry in the kitchen and Kris and Coach quietly conversing in Kris’ workshop and the scent of Gramp’s favored reading cigars filtering through the vents.

Heather’s heart felt suddenly overfull and she struggled against the urge to cry.

“No,” Grandfather chuckled heartily as he leaned on his cane for support; looking happier and more relaxed than Heather had ever seen him.  “The journey down here and being able to access the Family Magics- you’d be surprised how many people _can’t_ \- are the two major opinions to the Magics of our House and you’ve quite clearly cleared those hurdles.”  He sobered a bit, but was still smiling warmly.  “Cassie and I decided that you were more than ready to take up the mantle of the Family Magics.  Usually it is suggested to wait until twelve because of all the male-only lines of succession.  Young ladies tend to be ahead of their male counterparts in terms of maturity in just about every sense.  Including magically.”

“Huh.”  Heather said, still growing used to the full weight of the Black Family Magics.  They were heavier than the Potter Magics in a weird sense.  More volatile than the inherently burbly magics she was more accustomed to reaching for.  And her brain had the rather ominous feeling of doing some seriously _weird_ Windows update shite, but other than that she felt fine.

_Ish._

She was sort of feeling overwhelmed, but in a good way?

“You won’t be taking up all of the responsibilities just yet, of course.”  Grandfather said as he offered her an arm and they picked their way across the room and back up the stairs. “Though we’ll likely go pull the Black offices out of mothballs before you return to Hogwarts Monday.”

“Do I really have to marry some stranger to keep up Family tradition?”  Heather asked quietly.

That part had been really bothering her, ever since Grandfather and Aunt Cassie had been discussing her rights as Heiress- or Lady- Black to say no to certain brownnosing Families out of sheer principle after dinner the previous evening.

Lucius and Draco Malfoy were on that list, which pleased Heather greatly.  Though the children of Lucius’ younger brother, Caius, and his elder sister, Amity were not, which was sort of strange for Heather to consider.  According to Aunt Cassie and Grandfather, the two previously-unknown Malfoys had fled Britain in early 1975, after a series of scandals and mysterious deaths shocked the Malfoy Family and drove Abraxas Malfoy into seclusion at the Malfoy estate in Ladcathel, Ireland. 

To hear Aunt Cassie tell it, the old man hadn’t stepped foot back inside Britain for the rest of his life and rumor had it that Lucius Malfoy wasn’t even Lord Malfoy by magic.  Rather,  Aunt Cassie strongly suspected that Abraxas Malfoy had used the Family Magic to protect Caius and Amity from Lucius and his Dark Lord. 

Grandfather, who had known Abraxas nearly all the man’s life, agreed.  Actually Grandfather heavily suspected that the cautious and shrewd Malfoy Lord had given Lucius Malfoy Lordship ring under Duress and had used the Family magic to bar Lucius from any estate other than the ones in the Isles.  Grandfather also suspected that his friend was suffering a great deal, trying to exist long enough to give his grandchildren time to grow and hopefully challenge the Contested Lordship.

The parents were ineligible to challenge Lucius’ claim, but the children were allowed- by right and magic- to challenge the Contested Lord to an Reckoning Duel- an Olde Magick Challenge that had to be issued in the presence of five other Lords and witnessed by at least eleven, at a location steeped in the Family’s Magics, like Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. 

So Lucius could be challenged in the Atrium of the Ministry or in Diagon, so long as there were five Lords present.  With the correct ritual words and witnesses the Olde Magick acted, regardless of a passerby’s ignorance of what was happening up until that point.

A Challenge was fairly medieval in the sense that it was winner-take-all or ‘to the victor got the spoils’.  And if a proper Challenge was issued Lucius would be honor _and_ magic bound to participate.  Magic only allowed seven days after Accepting a Challenge to pick a victor, regardless of stalling tactics.  And trying to circumvent the Duel’s rules tended to have catastrophic effects.

For _everyone_.  It made unwitting witness Lords- well, or Ladies; but Lords was sort of blanket term- very, very angry and impacted the Challenged Lord’s reputation and business interests tremendously.

Grandfather said for all that Lucius was a much lesser man than Abraxas or the two older- now deceased- Malfoy sons, Lucius was still formidable in his own right.  And Family magic could only interfere so much in a Reckoning Duel as the magic of the Isles themselves would rise up to prevent excess interference.

_“Magic is primal and fierce, dears.”  Aunt Cassie primly informed the slack-jawed Harry and uneasy Heather.  “Disrespect her might and majesty and she will destroy you.”_

Of course, anyone who so much as breathed such a thing usually ended up dead or ruined, but for all of Lucius’ flashy spending and high society lifestyle, the Clanmembers of the rightful Manager of the Malfoy Family hadn’t been seen at Gringotts Diagon in nearly _twenty_ _years_.

_“During our private get-togethers over the years, Abraxas grumbled about Barbtooth nearly as often as I complained about Longaxe.”  Grandfather sniffed disapprovingly from behind his nightcap.  “And I’ve not gotten a peep out of Longaxe as to why the whelp is using a Curator when the Malfoys have had a Manager for nearly four hundred years!”_

All interesting and compelling information, but it brought up a point she hadn’t even been entertaining inside the sanctity of her own mind.

_Marriage_.

She still loved her husband, even though she forgot details about him more and more as time passed.  But she’d never really put much thought into things like getting married in this life.  She’d always just focused on what was directly in front of her and prayed she’d live long enough to see Harry shot of the vestiges of the Blood War that killed their parents.  Because Voldemort was a symptom, not the source.

But now she _had_ to get married; she had a responsibility to carry on the House of Black’s line.

It was…….dredging up unpleasant and conflicting thoughts.

Heather had always wanted kids, but she’d never been able to have any, dealing with her infertility had taken the greater part of her twenties.  Then she had embraced her childless existence whole-heartedly, but the unfulfilled want had always lingered in the back of her mind.  Not overwhelmingly so but it had persisted every time she’d seen a mother cooing over a newborn or a child run up to their dad and get swept up in an exuberant hug.

Because her husband would have been an awesome dad even if she’d somehow been a crappy mother.

So, remarriage felt strange to contemplate but the idea of having children wasn’t the part she was wrestling with the most.

“Not necessarily.”  Grandfather dismissed flippantly as they continued up the stairs, Heather leading the way despite her woolgathering.  “Cassie had her own reasons for not marrying and most of the inheritance rules are skewed for lines that only allow for sons to inherit.  There are plenty of options, though there will be no shortage of offers.”  Heather could hear the self-satisfied smile in Grandfather’s voice when he added.  “But as a full Lady by right and magic, you’ll have final say on them.  And no law made by the Wizengamot can touch you, only laws passed by the Council of Nobles.  And while your enemies might have more allies at the moment, the Council as a whole balks at the idea of anyone being able to order a Most Ancient and Most Noble House how to deal with their own affairs.”

For some reason, Heather found such a thing _hilarious_.

Grandfather did too.

**\--XXX---**

By the time they made it back to the top of the staircase, Heather felt a bit like she was on a sugar-high. 

_‘Like I’m super hyped up and jittery and the crash is imminent.’_   She thought as grandfather explained how her new place as the Master of the Family Magics was different from being an Heir and how she would be able to hold off on telling anyone outside of the Family of her new position for at least a few more years.

“-well know, the Pureblood customs for coming of age and such are complicated.”  Grandfather continued after a short trip via Apparition.

One that didn’t make her queasy at all.

_‘Note to self- ask why Apparition feels much less unpleasant now.’_   Heather thought as she listened intently, keen to know more about the crazy mess she’d just committed herself to being a part of.

“Eleven is a significant age for a variety of reasons, granddaughter.”  Grandfather explained patiently as they leisurely strolled, arm-in-arm, down one of the many sprawling stone walkways of the east garden that led back to the Hall.

Most specifically the oldest section, which had been converted into a porch-veranda thing that was sort of like a designer-decorated outdoor patio, but with magical plants, conveniences, and advantages.

_‘This is so strange.’_   Heather thought rather bemusedly as the information pushed gently into the forefront of her thoughts before she even realized she’d reached for it.  _‘Awesome- I might be able to decently navigate this place now!- but really, really weird.’_

“Not the least of which is that, traditionally, it marks the first year in which it is acceptable for a child to no longer need a Family chaperone for outings and overnight visits.”  The man gave her a quicksilver smile and patted the hand she had wrapped around his arm gently.  “Sirius and James were cousins, as you well know, but Dorea and Walburga could never agree on an acceptable chaperone so the boys never really had the chance to meet until the Express.” 

Heather was momentarily distracted by a trio of giggling little beings with colorful dragonflyfly wings and laughably thin bodies that looped around her- making low pitched chittering noises- before they darted off through one of the arches excitedly.

They seemed to have tiny little arms and strangely disproportionate- but alarmingly cute- little faces.

Heather didn’t understand a thing they’d said, though.

“Ah.  The Dragonribbon Pixies are the first to know of you as Lady Black.  That’s an excellent omen!”  Grandfather was doing that ridiculously-proud beaming thing again.  “But as I was saying, eleven is considered the age when children are allowed a measure of freedom and, conventionally, were first introduced to society as being eligible for apprenticeships, allowed to mingle freely with their age mates of their own accord, and considered to be responsible for their actions, no longer protected under the canopy of being ‘a child’.  That is why the upcoming series of Balls and Galas are so important for you, my dear.  You should have been Announced this past summer, but what is done is done.”

“Uhm, Grandfather-“  Heather began, only for the man to cut her off.  Seemingly not having heard her, but Heather was rather suspicious of that thought.

He certainly didn’t _feel_ the least bit sorry for doing such a thing.

“As I was saying, the age of eleven is important for a variety of reasons.  However, most Families do not choose their Heirs until the age of fourteen.”  Grandfather continued to explain as they ducked below some low-hanging ivy and he seated them at a lovely round wrought iron table.

Silver wrought iron with seat cushions that made the chairs extremely comfortable and the midday sun in just the right spot to be pleasant instead of irritating.  A tea service was already in place, as were a delightful spread of some of Heather’s favorite treats.

Heater immediately forgave Grandfather and let him continue uninterrupted as she happily served the tea and dug in to the food.

“You must understand, that simply because eleven is the youngest allowable age for an Heir, it is still rather uncommon for an Heir to be Named so young.”  Grandfather took a sip of his doctored tea and frowned as he set the delicately painted china back onto its matching saucer.  “This century has seen more than just a smattering of conflict and so it’s not nearly as unheard of now as it was back in _my_ day-“

Heather nearly choked as the memory of Ao from _Naruto_ nearly smacked her in face.

_‘Oh sweet heavens, I nearly lost it there!’_   She sniggered internally as she tried to keep her humor at bay.

As well as the ‘shut up or I’ll kill you’ response that had leapt to the front of her tongue.

_‘What is in this tea?’_

“-but still rather uncommon.”  Another dab of milk was added to his tea before he pressed forward.  “I doubt that there are more than one or two other Heirs in your Year, though in a social setting the eldest child- or son- of the current Lord by right and magic are given the title as a courtesy.”  Grandfather gave her a sharp, vicious little smile over the golden rim of his teacup.  “Courtesy concedes to propriety, granddaughter.  Do not forget that.”

Heather- her mouth full of a muffin because she was far from graceful and elegant- merely nodded to show she understood.

Another sip of tea and then the cup and saucer were placed back on the table one again.  “To an outsider, your ring will only show what you are ready for them to see.  Part of the innate magic of the rings is to protect the Master of the Family Magics.  Therefore, until you are ready for the world to know you are Lady Black, they will not.”  Grandfather was fairly radiating smugness.  “Cassie and I have discussed this topic at length as we understand and respect your desire to ‘stack the deck of Exploding Snap cards’ against your enemies- we are actually quite proud of your cunning, actually- and so we feel that making Cassie Regent Black would be the best course of action.”

“Not that I disagree.”  Heather replied slowly after washing down her most recent snack with some tea of her own.  “But isn’t that asking quite a bit of Aunt Cassie?  I mean, she’s already auditing all the Black interests- and there are so many!- in addition to being my Senior Assistant, wouldn’t adding the Wizengamot and everything else be too much?  Even for a woman of Aunt Cassie’s caliber, I mean.”

“I knew we made the right decision to make you Lady black, but the continued confirmation does this old man’s heart good to witness.”  Grandfather smiled softly at Heather for a long moment, his grey eyes full of affection. 

Heather could _feel_ his genuine happiness, too.  It was warm, like butter on fresh toast or marshmallows bobbing on top of a cup of perfectly made hot chocolate.

“Cassie being Regent, however, would mostly change nothing.”  Grandfather continued, slipping back into his typical composure.  “I would still be handling the Wizengamot- I had nearly forgotten how much fun it was to poke at the old fossils after a major victory- and Cassie would continue just as she has been.”

There was a very put-upon sigh that Heather didn’t believe for a minute.

“She’s been nothing less than happy as Niffler in a dragon’s hoard since Sirius’ trial.  I haven’t seen Cassie this excited since-“  Grandfather paused for a moment, grief warring with his self-control until he managed to steadily add, “-well since long before Dorea passed.”  Suddenly he seemed ten years younger as he leaned forward a bit and added.  “Cassie has always been a fighter, but in recent years she’s not had anything worth fighting for. Perhaps when you’re as old as we are you’ll understand a bit better, granddaughter, but I assure you that Cassie and I are both feeling much younger than we have in decades.”

Well.

Heather could understand that to some extent.

“So long as you’re certain I’m not overworking you.”  She managed to say cheerfully, her lips curving into a smile.

“Excellent.”  Grandfather approved with a firm nod as he withdrew back into his seat.  “With Cassie as Regent and myself still on the Wizengamot, there will be all sorts of delightful rumors running about, but no one will realize the truth until we are ready.”  There seemed to be a disturbing amount of glee in Grandfather’s voice when he added.  “And when we do, it will be far too late for those sycophants of the fiend who killed Reggie to hold on to the power that was never theirs in the first place!”

_‘No pressure, girl.’_   Heather thought somewhat wryly as they finished up their tea with a bit more technical banter and headed inside.

**\--XXX---**

“It feels _so weird_.”  Harry laughed as the twins unrepentantly climbed into Sirius’ gigantic bed, animals in tow.  “I can still sort of sense ‘feather, but about an hour after I put on the ring, her presence became………..muted?”  Harry shook his head, dark hair flying back and forth as Sirius wrestled with Snuffles over a rope toy.  “It’s not bad, really, just _strange_.”

Sirius’ bed was huge.  As in double king sized huge!  And the inside was pretty much an enchanted replica of a cloudy night’s sky, complete with twinkling stars, the moon in its correct phase, and the occasional shooting star or visiting planet.

Originally the spread and everything had been black, then Gryffindor red, but now it was a nice mix of cool blue and pale grey.  The recommendations had come from Sirius’ therapist- well the magical world of the Isles called them Asklepieion Healers, after the Greek temples of healing and the Greek deity Asclepius- and the change in colors had been really helpful.

Well, Heather had gotten a whole dissertation on the relation between the ancient Greeks and the ancient Egyptians and the founders of modern magical, medical psychiatry.  From what Heather had gotten from the excited babble was that that area of the world still held the reins of such things and pretty much every magical therapist _ever_ graduated from one of the two ancient, highly respected institutions of higher education.

_Magic_.

Heather laughed brightly and crisscrossed her legs, laying a fleece blanket over them for Chromie to sleep on.  “I know!  I guess I got so used to your presence through the Family Magics I forgot what it was like to…..not?  I mean you’re still there, just not in the same way?”

The twins traded glances and then burst out laughing.

Mallie, always up for some laughter, switched from watching Snuffles and Sirius wrestle to leap over to Harry, knocking him over, before slathering him in happy doggy kisses.

Sirius, bedclothes askew and minus a rope toy, perked up and bounced over.

Literally. The man was sitting cross-legged and bounced over to the twins, Snuffles happily scampering in his wake.

“I remember when James finally put on his Heir ring!”  Sirius interjected brightly.  “He said it was strange, but not.”  Sirius sobered a bit and smiled wistfully.  “He yanked on my ‘connection’ to the Potter Magics the night he died, that’s why I knew he was in trouble.”

The twins reached out and grabbed Sirius’ fidgety hands.  “It’s ok Sirius.”  Harry told the man firmly.  “We don’t blame you.”

“And we never will.  Not even if it was your idea to switch Secret Keepers.” Heather asserted just as firmly. 

Sirius ruffled the hair on both of their heads, a sad sort of smile tugging at his lips.  “You’re both amazing, you know that?”  He shook his head and forcefully changed the subject.  “Now that you’re both heirs- and Lady-“

Heather groaned dramatically.

Both of them had been positively _overdoing_ the ‘Lady’ shtick since dinner, when they had finally returned to the Hall.

“I am _Siriusly_ -“  She began, only for Harry to whimper pitifully while Sirius looked positively _delighted_.

“Ohmygawd- _stop it_!”  Harry yelped in defeat as he tried to make it past Sirius’ blocking appendages to slap a hand over Heather’s mouth.  “Just… _no more_!  _Nonononono_ ~!”

Heather affected an affronted look.  “But, _Siriusly_ , I think-“

With a battle cry worthy of a Viking, Harry bodily launched himself at his sister. 

Chromie meowed in offense and scampered off to watch the chaos from a distance but the other two decided that playtime was now.

When Mimsy came to check in an hour later they were passed out in a tangled pile of fur, hair, paws, and limbs.

**\--XXX---**

If the Potter offices looked to be as large as the Professor’s house from X-Men, than the Black offices were-

Actually, Heather wasn’t sure.

They were _huge_.  At least four stories, though the front was all tall columns- with statues of cheerful things like gargoyles- made out of a heavy, grey swirled stone with only a single line of windows above it. The top was a rounded dove-grey dome that flattened out to a regular sloped roof after a little ways.  Black shingle- or whatever they were called- naturally.  From the side there were at least four individual sets of windows, most with window boxes made from wrought iron that held trailing ivy and the occasional splash of color or just lovely wrought iron decoration.

The fencing was red brick and wrought iron as well.

Heather was sensing a theme.

The inside was mostly dark, polished floors and heavy desks resting on plush rugs.  There was more wrought iron- from ceiling accents, to intricately done stairwells, to window decorations and even the holders for the wall sconces or the bloody doorknobs- and more of the dove-grey and swirled grey stone from the outside for the walls and ceiling.  Even the benches and chairs were wrought iron, with cushions made of black or grey.

Definite theme here, though Heather preferred the silver wrought iron of her suite at Blackmoor Hall.

There were _three_ basement levels and Heather’s office- as Lady Black- was high up in the dome, where she could use all manner of little devices and innocuous-seeming things to spy on her employees or guests.

That was Lord-only level information but potentially useful.

There were four separate libraries and some of the tomes were so old Heather could scarcely believe the dates.  A lot of them were reference materials, having been translated over time and so some books were a tenth or twelfth generation ‘update’ of an original.

Once he’d been shown inside and told to pick an office, Mr. Reginald had seemed _so excited_.

It took Heather half an afternoon to meticulously remove permissions for most of the people on the House of Black office list, but she felt a certain vindicated satisfaction at crossing out the names ‘Lucius Malfoy’ and ‘Draco Malfoy’.  As the Lady and Master of the Black Family Magics Heather hadn’t felt comfortable cutting Narcissa completely out, though the woman was only allowed to Floo in and then wait for further approval.

However, this office needed some greenery. 

Plants were great to look at _and_ useful!

Heather looked up from her work and smiled at Liv.  “Think you can get me some plants for this crazy office?”  She asked her assistant wryly.

Well, her junior assistant.

Heather had been concerned about Liv’s reaction to essentially being given a new boss, but Liv had been positively _ecstatic_ at the idea of having Aunt Cassie around to help her whenever Liv needed guidance or advice.

Heather was sensing some fangirl enthusiasm for Aunt Cassie from Liv. 

Which was entirely fine with Heather because Aunt Cassie was a _Grade-A Badass_.

The office was handsome and sleek but it just seemed rather….cold.  Impersonal.  And Heather was going to have to spend plenty of time in here, so she wanted it to be somewhat cozy!

“Will do!”  Liv chirped, nearly overbalancing before she righted herself with a huff and blew some hair out of her eyes.  “Though might I suggest a decorator?  Maybe they could double as a personal shopper?”  Liv grimaced a bit and tried to find a comfortable position to _exist_ in.  “I mean, I’m okay with a list, but I really have about zero talent with either one of those things…..”

“Not a bad idea.”  Heather replied with a sigh, sinking back in her leather chair- it was _super_ comfortable!- and kneading her forehead tiredly.  “Because I really suck at _both_.  I enjoy art and stuff, but I can’t look at something and picture it painted and in a room in a cute manner, you know?  That’s a special talent that some people are born with and I just…. _wasn’t_.”

It was Sunday so it was back to Hogwarts tomorrow and dealing with the social fallout of her attacking a teacher and several other students.

Though Heather had mostly made her peace with the incident, rumors were terrible things and neither she nor Harry had been there to spread the truth of the incident.

“Did somebody order a Padfoot?”  Sirius asked boisterously as he fairly bounced into the room, bearing food.

“Always.”  Heather replied with a grin, eagerly attacking the fish-n-chips and soda Sirius had set down in front of her.  “Hey, little brother.”  She greeted around a mouthful of food when she noticed Harry, who came bearing some of Florean’s ice cream.

“Hey, ‘feather!”  Harry sing-songed back brightly, laying down his gifts before her with a flourish.  “And how is the Lady Black doing this fine morning?”

Heather chucked a chip at him and kept eating, but she grinned at his grandstanding.  “ _Dork_.”  She muttered.

“So, what’s this about a personal shopper?”  Sirius prodded with an eager grin.  “Because I happen to have _excellent_ taste.”

“Siri, mullets are _not_ the pinnacle of cool-“  Harry started to lecture his godfather and then godson and godfather devolved into playful squabbling, which was quite amusing for Liv and Heather to witness.

Snuffles, meanwhile, ran around inspecting things and barking at his own reflection on various highly-polished surfaces with Mallie trotting around and trying to keep him somewhat contained.

“I dunno, Liv, think you can handle such…. _Sirius-ness_?”  Heather questioned her assistant, who groaned dramatically and buried her face in her hands.

“Why me?”  Liv moaned theatrically.

“Was that a Sirius pun?”  Sirius asked with a wide grin, breaking off his argument with Harry and staring hopefully at the two women.  “Or a Sirius play-on-words?  Because I _Sirius-ly_ love those!”

“Oh gawd, yes.”  Harry complained tossing an arm over his eyes and causing Mallie to abandon her herding of the puppy to come over and shove her snout onto his leg, big golden eyes mournful and needy.  “Make her _stop_!”  Harry demanded dramatically as he reached a hand down to pet Mallie, sneaking her a chip when he thought no one was paying attention.

“Never!”  Sirius and Heather chorused, trading shit-eating grins.

“Oh, the party is in here.”  Mr. Reginald said with some amusement as he, Nigel, and Aunt Cassie came in.

With Sophie trailing behind them.

“Sophie?!”  Heather nearly choked on her chip as she caught sight of her roommate.  “What are you doing here?  Ohmy- did I get you expelled? I got you expelled didn’t I?  Iam _so_ sorry-”

Then Heather’s mouth was still moving but no sound was emerging.

Aunt Cassie put away her wand with an entirely unnecessary flourish.  “Young Sophie here has been staying with Andromeda and her family while we dealt with Family matters.”  Aunt Cassie turned expectant eyes towards the Montforts.

“Sign these papers and then one Sophie Roper will be made a Ward of House Black.”  Mr. Reginald told Heather as he laid a sheaf of parchment in front of her via a flick of his wand.  “In the care of Andromeda Tonks-“  Another sheaf of papers floated towards Heather.  “-the mother of Nymphadora Tonks, the first of a daughter line of the House of Black- the Line of Tonks- and thus brining all four under the umbrella of ‘Family’.”

Heather perused the documents quickly, essentially gleaning that by signing the papers she was accepting financial and personal responsibility for Sophie until the girl turned twenty-five or achieved a Mastery, while Andromeda and her husband Ted would house Sophie.

Having met Aunt Andy Heather had already beenlooking into ways to bring the Tonks family under the protection of either the House of Potter or the House of Black.  And now not only could she do that, she could give Aunt Andy the second daughter the woman had always wanted!

Heather was well aware of the fact that Tonks- as in Nymphadora- was likely super excited about having a younger person to smother in affection- and help distract her mum- and Aunt Andy wouldn’t offer to take Sophie in and being brought back into the Family unless she wanted to- and Aunt Andy and Uncle Ted had already signed the papers.

“Is this okay with you, Sophie?”  Heather asked, glancing up at her roommate uncertainly, not wanting to force the girl into anything.  “I mean, I’m all for it, of course, but I want to make sure you don’t feel obligated or anything.”

“Y-yes.  I’m sure.”  Sophie said nervously, twisting her hands nervously in her skirt.  “But I-I do have a request.”

“Alright.  Go ahead.”  Heather encouraged once the silence had stretched on a beat and Sophie seemed to be waiting on permission.

Sophie took a deep breath and shot a pleading look at Aunt Cassie, who merely nodded.  “I-I don’t want to be Sophie Roper anymore.”  Sophie windmilled her arms a bit and grimaced.  “I’m mean- I’m _Sophie_.  But the Ropers are the family who left me at the h-home because they didn’t want me.”  The girl flushed red and her eyes were wet, but she pressed forward determinedly.  “I don’t really know the Tonks’ well enough to- um, well, Mrs. Tonks said that the House of Black has-uhm-“

“Extinct maternal lines that married in to our House.”  Heather filled in for her, leaning back in her chair a bit.  “Aunt Cassie?”

Aunt Cassie levitated a book over to Heather.

“Uhm, got any preferences?”  Heather asked her roommate as she perused he names and basic descriptions.

“Anything that doesn’t start with the letter ‘r’ or sound like Roper?”  Sophie put in hopefully.

“Hm.”  Heather hummed as she flipped a few more pages.  “How about Arandar? It’s matriarchic, actually.  Looks like it was last used by a lady who married into the House near the turn of the century.  She’d wanted to pass the name along to daughters, but she’d never had any.  Total badass, by the way.  Refused to marry a Carrow and then beat him in a duel to secure her freedom.  And by ‘beat’ I mean she hexed his bollocks off before she soundly thrashed him and then refused to give him the counter-curse once the duel was over, claiming it as Family Magic.  Which was then folded into the House of Black’s arsenal.”

Heather was deeply amused and mildly disturbed.

But mostly amused. 

“Arandar.”  Sophie said, as if tasting the word.  “Arandar.”  She smiled and flushed a deeper red.  “I like it.”

“Sounds good to me!”  Heather replied cheerfully, shakily levitating the documents over to Mr. Montfort, along with the new name written on a scrap of parchment.

Soon enough the papers were levitated back- much more elegantly; she definitely needed more practice- with the correction noted and the places where Heather needed to sign clearly earmarked.  Instead of one daughter line, they were adding two- Tonks and Arandar- and little else changed.

Hm.  Apparently this had been planned, or at least Mr. Montfort had suspected.

With Aunt Cassie as her senior assistant it was difficult to say for certain, but either way the contract read smoothly despite the ’surprise’ request.

Aunt Cassie was Regent officially now- had the Regent ring and everything- so Heather was fairly content to let the older woman scheme and only do the work that was set directly in front of her.

See?  She could learn this delegation thing!

Maybe?

The Black Manager was out of the country on Gringotts business, so Heather wouldn’t get to meet her new Manager until the Christmas hols, which sort of sucked.

Heather unearthed her pen from underneath some _other_ documents and signed the certificate with a flourish before affixing her official Seal to the document as well.  “Just sign here, here, and here, and we’ll be done!”  Heather chirped, grabbing a nearby business quill and a small pot of Binding Ink and pushing it towards Sophie, along with a fresh Contract Quill.

She’d had to sign with her fancy ‘Lady Black’ pen that was bound by blood and magic and couldn’t even be touched by anyone but her without nasty things happening- it was a gift from Grandfather, they had spent part of the morning watching it be made by a privately contracted artisan at Blackmoor Hall- but the others could use regular Binding Ink and a Contract Quill.

The other girl walked forward and signed her name, and just as she finished Heather felt the Black Family Magics latch on to the girl and ….sort of memorize her?

Heather also vaguely got a sense of excited joy as the magic embraced…something.  She had a feeling that it had to do with Aunt Andy being allowed access to the ‘source’ of the Family Magics again, but couldn’t explain why she felt so certain about that specific thought.

Heather couldn’t reach out and feel Sophie like she could sort of feel Aunt Cassie or Grandfather- or even Sirius, but he was much more difficult to read- if she really, really focused, but at the same time she now felt a bit more connected to Sophie.

Magic was wonderful but perplexing and hard to explain sometimes.

Once Sophie had been properly welcomed- there had been a few tears- Aunt Cassie whisked her off to do some shopping and other secretive Aunt Cassie-ish things- while the Montforts went back to Mr. Reginald’s new office.

And the Contract Quill had been incinerated, of course.

“So, personal shopper?”  Sirius prodded eagerly.

“And a designer!”  Liv added cheerfully.

The twins groaned in tandem.

**\--XXX---**

Enid Pettigrew was a very matronly woman; with grey hair and laugh lines around her cornflower blue eyes.  “Heather.”  The woman nearly breathed, when Heather stepped forward to hug her.  “Oh just _look_ at you.”

It just seemed like the woman needed a hug, okay?  Heather was very huggy with people she cared about!

“It’s very nice to meet you.”  Heather told the woman warmly as she stepped back a bit, Enid retaining a gentle grip on Heather’s arms as the older woman seemingly visually inspected the new Lady Black.  “Would you like some tea?”

“Please.”  Enid agreed, releasing Heather and taking a seat on the settee.

They were in the rather informal tea room that was enclosed in the rather ridiculously large area that was Heather’s office.

The ‘formal’ one was on the other side of her office.

Her office was rather huge, alright?

“Enid!”  Aunt Cassie said approvingly as she strolled inside, Sirius and Harry at her heels.  “I was hoping to catch you!”

“Aunt En!”  Was all the warning Sirius gave before he bounced over and wrapped the woman up in a spine cracking hug, sweeping her off her seat on the settee and around in a few circles before he set her back on her feet.

“Sirius.”  The woman choked out, tears running down her face.  “I’m-“

“It’s not your fault!”  Sirius cut her off firmly, wiping her tears away with gentle motions.  “You tried, I _know_ you did.  Aunt Cassie said so.”

“Not enough!”  Enid shot back fiercely as she hugged the grown man in a very motherly manner.  “You-“’

“You did all you could do.”  Sirius said firmly, cutting her off a bit more gently and hugging her back fiercely.  “And that’s more than enough.”  After a few moments Sirius stepped back and grinned so widely it looked like it should hurt.  “And might I introduce-eh, where’d he?- oh!”

Harry, who had taken a seat next to Heather, waved cheerfully.  “I’m Harry!”  Then he turned back to Heather.  “Hey, ‘feather.  You wanna add my new assistant to the Wards?”

“You have an assistant?”  Heather asked, rather incredulously; pausing in her motions of fussing with the tea service.  “Already?”

What the _hell_?

Harry nodded excitedly.  “Yup!  Passed Bixbite’s background check and everything!  His name is Remus Lupin!”  Harry grinned roguishly.  “Aunt Cassie and Sirius finally managed to track him down!”

Suddenly, Heather was extremely amused.  “Hiring pre-vetted people is just _cheating_.”  She gasped dramatically her brother, a mortally offended look on her face.

“It’s _smart_.”  Harry shot back with a grin.  “Jealousy doesn’t become you, sister dear.”

Heather felt entirely justified in pushing Harry off the couch and into Mallie and Snuffles’ domain.

**\--XXX---**

It wasn’t until Tansy answered Heather’s call to take letters that Heather was struck with a thought.

“Tansy, darling, I’ve only just considered- are you still my elf now that I’m Lady Black?”  Heather asked, wide-eyed.

She hadn’t even considered how her new position would affect Tansy!

Tansy sniffed disapprovingly and snapped her fingers, and Heather’s mail disappeared.  “Mistress is Mistress and Tansy is honored to serve.”  The little elf wiped her hands down her spotless pillowcase primly.  “Tansy won’t be disturbings the Black Elves, but if Mistress calls Tansy will always answers.”

“Thank you, darling.”  Heather told Tansy with a smile, reaching for one of Hagrid’s ‘deluxe’ rock cakes and handing it to the suddenly very excited little elf.  “I appreciate your service.”

Tansy bobbed her head and disappeared with a _pop_.

House Elf culture was so surreal to Heather.  They were tiny beings made of more magic and emotions than flesh- hence their strange speaking patterns and rather difficult gender assignations- but they were still complex beings in their own right.

Still, as Lady Black, Heather should probably reach out to her new elves.

“Mistress called Mimsy?”  A squeaky little voice piped up, startling Heather a bit.

“Oh, hello Mimsy.”  Heather replied with a rather uncertain smile.  “I was just pondering how my new position might change things for Tansy- I’ve gotten quite used to relying on her to ferry letters and such- but I don’t want to offend any of the Black elves either.”

Mimsy preened.  “So long as Mistress bes remembering that’s the Black elves bes servings House Black, then wes be accepting Potter elf Tansy handling Mistresses’ mails.”

“So, as long as Tansy only handles mail and I call you or one of the other Black elves for anything else no one will feel left out?”  Heather translated hopefully.

“Yes, Mistress.”  Mimsy affirmed with a smile.

Heather withdrew a shiny rock she’d found on the shores of the Black Lake that seemed to change colors in the sunlight and handed it to Mimsy.  “Well, then.  Just to make sure no one feels neglected.”

Mimsy bounced on her toes a bit.  “Is Mistress being needing anythings?”

“Ah, could you make sure that Chromie hasn’t managed to take off her collar again?  I don’t want to spend an hour searching for her in the morning.”  Heather’s lips quirked into a grin.  “Again.”

“Right away Mistress!”  Mimsy replied easily, curtseying and popping away.

“I might as well get to bed.”  Heather muttered as she looked over her finished homework.  “Tomorrow I have to face the music at Hogwarts.”

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still an anxious little introvert. Still really love hearing that you guys are enjoying this thing.
> 
> It's complicated. (=
> 
> Please enjoy and thanks for reading~!


	15. Onward

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Surprisingly returning to Hogwarts wasn’t as difficult as Heather had expected.

In a way.

Sort of?

…………maybe?

Heather’s new mantra was, _‘public embarrassment is not the end of the world; focus on your support, not the masses’_. 

It was difficult, but Heather had rather firmly attached herself to Sophie and Harry- and therefore the other boys from the dorm.  The whispers and judging stares annoyed and stung her pride, but she focused solely on what she needed to do.

The constant sensation of being suffocated was entirely unwanted, but preferable to her being cornered by less than well-meaning people looking for juicy gossip bits that were easily twisted into utter untruths.

The pointed questions and groups attempting to corner her were slightly terrifying- moreso than they would have been just a fortnight ago- but she circumvented this by trying to stay near the center of the little mob of First Years.

_‘One foot in front of the other.  This too shall pass.’_

Also, Percy was a godsend and she was _never_ giving him to the Ministry.  Not only was he brave- he went toe-to-toe with the Head Boy, who was a Slytherin- he was also crafty and well-armed with knowledge.

Not to mention he seemingly had skin thicker than a dragon’s hide.

So, yeah.

Percy was one of Heather’s people and Mr. Reginald was looking forward to having the teen as an intern for the coming summer.  Should Percy perform as well as Heather figured he would, Mr. Reginald would then go to Arthur Weasley and try to set up an Apprenticeship.

_Boom_.

The Ministry’s loss, Heather’s gain.

_‘Get on my level, bitches.’_

In other news, at least she didn’t have to deal with Yaxley anymore.  She didn’t even really have to look at him, either.

Grandfather had demanded- when Grandfather had escorted them back to Hogwarts Monday morning and demanded to know what the Headmaster had done to her attackers- reassurance that Heather would be _safe_. So Heather had been allowed to stay and listen to the Headmaster’s list of punishments and the magically enforced restrictions of her attackers.

Despite the Headmaster’s reluctance in informing her, which she sort of understood and sort of was supremely irritated by.

Yes, she was young and she really did believe that the Headmaster had taken action, but being informed of those actions and about any safeguards put in place to protect her were sort of her right as the victim.

At least Grandfather had agreed with her personal thoughts on the matter and had raised hell- in a decorous manner- until the Headmaster caved to Grandfather’s demands.

Heather, once her emotions had settled from their initial spike of outrage and hurt, had grudgingly acknowledged the reasons as to why the Headmaster had been reluctant to disclose the information to an eleven-year-old, but the mildly disapproving looks he’d sent when she’d _insisted_ on knowing the extent of their punishment had still stung.

According to the Headmaster, Yaxley had been entirely removed from any position of authority whatsoever. 

Yaxley was still the Hogwarts Potion Master’s Apprentice- Master-Apprentice Pacts were apparently sacred, akin to ‘internal Family business’- but he and the rest of Heather’s attackers were not allowed within one hundred meters of Heather, Harry, or Sophie and that included during their Potions class. 

Thanks to a happy scheduling coincidence, Professor Flitwick’s Assistant Professor- Assistant Professor Shacklebolt- had that period free and Professor Flitwick had offered her aid as an Assistant Professor, which the Headmaster had allowed as she had gotten an ‘O’ on her Potions NEWT.   So Potions would still have an Assistant Professor and Apprentice Healer Talmhach as an impartial observer.

Grandfather wrangled a firm agreement that Severus Snape would be barred from issuing detentions to either twin or Sophie.  The Headmaster had been extremely reluctant to undercut the authority of a Professor in their own classroom, but Grandfather had thrown- again, a very dignified- fit until the Headmaster had agreed.

Yaxley and his associates were also constantly under magical observation or restricted to their- separate- rooms in a secret area of the castle.  They couldn’t call on any house elves- least of all their personal ones- and if they came within the hundred meters of Heather on ‘accident’ the castle would take ‘immediate corrective action’, thought he Headmaster had remained mum on details.  Which Grandfather had agreed to suspiciously easily, so Heather assumed that meant _he_ was confident that Hogwarts didn’t mess around with such things.

By the time she left the office Heather felt a bit bad about the relentless grilling Grandfather had given the poor Headmaster- he looked so tired!- but also a whole lot better.

On their journey back to the tower there were a few _really dirty_ looks thrown her way and whispers that died to nothing but judgy or suspiciously innocent glowers whenever she rounded a corner unexpectedly, but it was tolerable. 

It set the tone for how her general treatment by most others, as well, with far more people seemingly neutral on the issue than she had expected, given the way the books had portrayed things.

There were some really outspoken folks, but they mostly just voiced their opinions really loudly in her vicinity, not directly _at_ her, so she pretended to ignore them from her place behind Harry and Ron, with Sophie on one side and Sally-Anne on the other and the other three First Year boys gamely bringing up the rear.

It was…..survivable. 

Still, the dissenting voices made it seem like the whole school was against her, even if all the factual evidence assured her otherwise.

Harry, as always, was _adorable_.

Harry’s suspiciously ‘coincidental’ guards that seemed just ‘happen’ to be headed wherever she was going.  Even if that person was Percy offering to escort her to the Library after class ended for the day- and Harry had quidditch practice- when she knew damn good and well he’d had a class at the other end of the castle the previous period.

_It was survivable_. 

It could have been much, much worse and she was grateful so many people cared about her.

_‘Count your blessings.  And when the world seems especially dark, count them twice for good measure.’_

The first three days of that first week back were excruciatingly long and grueling.

_‘Nevertheless, she persisted.’_

Then they announced Heather’s first Flying make-up lesson would be on Thursday and she could have cursed a blue streak, had it not been Professor McGonagall who had held her back to inform her.  Apparently only Heather and a few other First Years had needed the remedial classes, so the lesson had gotten lost in the shuffle of scheduling conflicts until now.

_Fan-frickin’-tastic._

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

In the early thirties to late forties there were three sons and two daughters born to the House of Nott by way of the House’s Lady and all five of them had suffered for the Lord and Lady’s marital troubles.

As in, the Lord didn’t deem to present himself at the birth of any of his Lady-wife’s children, not even the children he’d confirmed as his own progeny.

Thusly, the proper potential heirs were named Cantankerous, Pugnacious, Contentious, Bellicose, and Quarelsome by their displeased Lady-mother.

The home the Nott siblings had grown up in- like most Roman-inspired villas- had four ‘sides’ that enclosed quite a large area of land.  The villa was perched atop a wide hill with a beautiful view of series of small, interconnected lakes on the northern side.  It was quite beautiful land being in what the muggles would come to call ‘God’s Own Country’ with vivid green grasses, rolling hills, and clear skies.  The land inside the wards stretched for miles, with the preserved ancient buildings providing a wonderful contrast to the unrestrained beauty of nature.

Yet-

Dust gathered in the grand rooms of the villa, floors were encrusted with grime, and the hired help did little more than clean up the tutoring areas.  Charms weakened and broke or became corrupted and wild.  The home’s marble began to lose its shine and splinter. The formerly stabled animals ran free, becoming more wild and untamed with each spring’s new additions.

It was a lovely ruin with no fire to warm its hearth and those circumstances bled through in the lives those children lived.

Cantankerous had despised his parents and their chosen lovers to the point of madness, obsessively compiling- and then publishing a book- of what he considered the ‘pure’ and ‘proper’ families before he even reached the age of ten.  Cantankerous spent many, many long and lonely hours  poring over the genealogy texts and journals in the Nott Library, loathing every single Family that had been noted to have a ‘mistress’ or ‘companion’.

Alas, the Nott Library was far from an authority on such matters and so his work was fundamentally flawed, but that didn’t stop the blood purists- who had been on the rise thanks to the situations with the Ottomans and Grindelwald- from using the book as a war banner.

When Cantankerous Nott met Tom Riddle on the train to Hogwarts, they’d recognized kindred souls.  Brother-in-arms, and so Cantankerous became the closest thing Tom Riddle ever had to a friend.

The hypocrisy would be _hilarious_ if it wasn’t so tragic.

Cantakerous knew full well the story of Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle Senior and he had been Tom’s willing accomplice in Marvolo Gaunt’s demise in return for Tom’s assistance in deposing of his bitterly despised parents and assorted other Family members who had ‘participated in sullying the name of Nott’.

To be somewhat fair, Cantakerous had plenty to be angry and bitter about.  Not only for his hated name and loveless upbringing- that was nearly entirely regulated to indifferent tutors and greedy social-climbers- but also for his parents’ extreme expenditures that had steadily drained the House of Nott coffers.  Mostly on expensive gifts and garishly opulent lifestyles for their chosen lovers and those lovers’ offspring while the five _proper_ heirs had been left mostly to raise themselves, save for the hired help and a villa whose upkeep was deemed ‘too expensive’ or ‘not important right now’.

Cantankerous and his siblings hadn’t even had a single elf left to tend them!

Granted, wholesale murder was an extreme response to such things, but neither Cantankerous nor Tom were what one would consider ‘stable’ or ‘even keel’.

And that was where Cantakerous’ story met with Anastasia’s. 

Or, more correctly, her mother Beatrice’s story.

Beatrice Clearwater had not been Cantakerous Nott’s first concubine and she wasn’t his last, but she certainly made an impact.

Beatrice had been a Hufflepuff and damn proud of it.  Her school photos showed her in all of her wildly curled haired glory arm-in-arm with a girl she’d met on the train.  Thick as thieves they were, despite being Sorted into separate Houses.  Rarely apart and brilliant in their own rights, they had been made to do great things.

And Cantankerous Nott _hated_ them for it, he took their zest for life and fierce friendship as a personal offense.

Beatrice’s best and most cherished friend in the entire world being Josephine Prince, the youngest of the Prince girls and the wife Cantankerous felt that he deserved.

Cantankerous had tried to convince Lord Prince to Contract Christine Prince- the middle daughter- to the Nott Family, but Lord Raleigh Prince had refused.

While House Prince had still been reeling- politically, socially, and economically- from the disappearance of Eileen Prince, the Lord Prince had been extremely reluctant to Contract his granddaughter to a man who was rumored to be spiraling into debt and who had been noted to brag about his no less than three concubines- no one could pin down the exact number- yet none of the concubines nor children had been seen in Diagon or Hogsmeade.

Children from anyone other than the Lady-wife being given ‘lesser names’, making them rather difficult to trace back to a Family if enough precautions were taken.

Amazing what the public was willing to blatantly overlook in the name of keeping the status quo.

Christine married Albert Diggory straight out of Hogwarts and- even more furious than before- Cantankerous had turned his eyes to Josephine, who was ten years younger than Christine, the baby of the Prince family.

Cantankerous Nott hated Josephine for consorting with a half-blood, he hated Beatrice for being so much prettier than her pureblood friend, and he especially hated the way the girls would rather study and better themselves than act like ‘proper women’.

The Lord Nott had been so obsessed with the two girls that he had asked for help in ‘securing’ them for himself from his charming and handsome friend, Tom Riddle.  From the girls’ Third Year to their Sixth Year he would ‘just happen’ to be in Hogsmeade- usually with Tom- and would buy them gifts and trinkets and acted like a proper, upstanding gentleman.

Even Beatrice, a very sensible girl with very little interest in relationships or men, was eventually charmed.

That was all it took for everything to go horribly wrong.

The way Anastasia’s mother had always told the story was that the last thing she remembered clearly was being in Hogsmeade’s most famous pub and Tom coming back to their booth with a tray of butterbeers.

The next thing she knew she blinked awake in a place that she would come to know as her prison.

Bereft of her wand, lost, confused, and more than a little scared she had searched for her friend, but she didn’t get very far before she found Mama Jo- bound to a hard chair with conjured ropes, shivering violently, and sobbing her eyes out in the middle of a disgustingly dirty, crowded, dilapidated room- and the reality of the situation began to sink in. 

Then Cantankerous Nott had appeared and gleefully explained his triumph.

Mama Jo had been Contracted off to Lord Nott by the _new_ Lord Prince- Lord Ralston, after Lord Raleigh and the other potential heirs died in a series of ‘accidents’ – who, incidentally, was much more sympathetic to Cantanekrous’ proposition.  Knowing that Beatrice wouldn’t stand idly by for such a thing- and was smart enough to think her way around it- the man had concocted an elaborate scheme to snare both girls for the price of one. 

Technically Mum had been allowed to leave, could have even gone to the Aurors and most likely gotten away.

But-

Lord Nott had sworn- up, down, and sideways- he’d murder Mama Jo in the most gruesome manner he could manage if Mum did.  And it was well within his rights, as he had gleefully pointed out in the copy of the Contract that he’d smugly handed the shocked-to-stillness Beatrice.

Mama Jo had begged Mum to leave, but Mum had stoutly refused and that was how she’d ended up as little more than a slave to Lord Nott.

Over the years that followed, Mama Jo and Mum had done their level best to protect others who were seduced by Lord Nott just as they’d done their level best to make their prison into a home.  But Lord Nott worked all of them like dogs- often leaving one of his disturbed siblings as a ‘minder’- taking their accomplishments and using them to fund the House of Nott coffers, while steadily drinking his way through what little there was left over after funding ‘Lord Voldemort’ and keeping up appearances.

Then Mum had had three children before Mama Jo managed to have even one and Lord Nott threatened to murder a child a year until he got what he wanted most- a ‘proper’ heir to present to the Dark Lord. 

From what Anastasia had been told by her older siblings- which was anyone born to Lord Nott by way of his Mistresses, Concubines, or Lesser Wives and was restricted to the estate like a prisoner until they shipped off to school and returned under duress if and when they managed to graduate- it had all come to a head the night after both Bellatrix LeStrange and Lucius Malfoy had announced that they were expecting. 

Cantankerous, who was paranoid about either of them replacing him as the Dark Lord’s most faithful servant, had been exceptionally angry.  Yuylia told Anastasia that she remembered Lord Nott sending a curse at her when she went to take his coat when he came home from the meeting and that Peter told her that Lord Nott had gone directly into his study and started drinking.

About an hour or so later Lord Nott had stumbled out of his study, entirely punch-blind drunk, ranting nearly entirely incoherently and simultaneously blaming the problem on Mum- for ‘stealing magic’ and Mama Jo- for being ‘a useless woman’.

The two women managed to keep him pacified for a few years- as shitty as it always made Anastasia feel, she was guiltily grateful that both Bellatrix and Lucius’ wife had suffered miscarriages, as the tragedies had likely saved Anastasia and her siblings’ lives- but the two women grew increasingly desperate as time moved forward and the Dark Lord was on the razor’s edge of winning the Blood War.

In the end Mum had gotten pregnant again in 1979 and Mama Jo still hadn’t had any luck.

But one should never, ever discount the impact of a group of women with a common goal and a common enemy.  They- there were seven of them at that point- managed to engineer a spell that essentially caused Mama Jo’s body to mimic Mum’s- down to the baby’s kicks- but ensuring Lord Nott wouldn’t notice any differences meant risking _everything_.  Their gambit worked, but it came at a high price and neither Mum nor Mama Jo were nearly as hale or healthy after Theodore’s birth.

Mama Jo and the others did their best to shield the kids from that reality, but Anastasia would never, ever forget listening to Mikhail pleading for his mother while Ma Tia tried to claw her way through the doors to the ballroom in the south hall the night the Dark Lord had visited, just a week before the incident at the Potter’s house in Godric’s Hollow.

Anastasia had only been four, but she remembered how her big brother had looked when he’d finally been released.  Probably because Mikhail was her favorite big brother, but the memory had stayed with her no matter what she did.

Fortunately the Dark Lord was banished shortly after Theodore’s birth, but unfortunately this meant a major financial crisis for the House of Nott. 

With the Dark Lord gone he was no longer around to order his supporters to ‘pay tribute’ to Lord Nott and of the original five siblings, two died and the other was in Azkaban.  They had managed to have ten children among them, but most of them were either toddlers or imprisoned with their parents.

Or dead. 

Mama Jo and Mum’s decline in health, of course, meant a decline in productivity as they had been the driving force behind all the research and innovations that Lord Nott squandered away for a fraction of their worth. 

With no enforcement and no backdoor galleons rolling in, things grew progressively tense and miserable.

It all came to a head near Theo’s fourth birthday when Lord Nott had spent an evening in his study, drinking heavily as usual.  Then he’d burst out and began throwing around Dark Curses around, raving like a madman.

That was the night Anastasia had awakened the Trait of the House of Nott that had not made an appearance in the previous two generations.  The most closely guarded Nott Family secret that tied in to their birthright and inheritance through the Family Magics.

But Anastasia had been young, terrified, and confused; unable to understand that she’d accidentally tapped into the very fabric of reality and time itself- well, into the leylines and they were literally timeless- and was seeing layers upon layers of images that may or may not happen.

Because time is fluid and measuring time is sort of impossible when one is dealing with _magic_ and _what always has been_ _and always will be_ yet _never was and never is_.

The Trait of the Nott Family Magic allowed a practitioner of Transcending to do so for small bursts of time- protecting their mind from overloading and shutting down entirely because it wasn’t made to process such vast possibilities- while also providing an anchor for the user to traverse the streams in search of answers.

It was rather difficult to properly reckon, really.

Anastasia hadn’t known any of that, however, and so she’d just _moved_ when she’d seen a glimpse of a curse cutting down a person she loved.  Still not entirely coherent she bodily tackling Mam Katy out of the way of a curse out of sheer instinct- as Mam Katy had been holding Trevor, their newest addition- she didn’t realize that she had accidentally left Theo- who had been hiding behind Mam Katy, but hadn’t been caught up in Anastasia’s sudden bodily relocation efforts- exposed.

Before Anastasia could even properly focus again- her head had been throbbing and her vision had been full of tears- she heard the sound of a scream as something solid hit the floor.

Anastasia knew that for as long as she lived she’d _never_ forget the kind little creases around the edges of Mama Jo’s lifeless eyes, nor the way Mum had reached out and caressed Anastasia’s face and whispered, “That’s my girl.” as the light faded from her eyes.

Nor would she ever forget the massive backlash of magic that tore itself away from the walls and barreled into Lord Nott with all the fury of a hurricane.  The furious, seething winds of magic sending the man tumbling down the hall and pinning him to the furthest end of the hallway mercilessly, as ribbons of blood began to splatter all over the walls in the chaotic unnatural winds.

Lord Nott hadn’t raised a wand to any of them since- the other women firmly believed that Mama Jo and Mum had done something that prevented the man from hurting them anymore- but Anastasia still felt terribly, horribly guilty.

_Responsible_.

Ever since that day Anastasia had dedicated herself to honing her abilities as best she could to help Theo. 

Ma Tia helped- as did Mam Katy and Mater Helena- and they never breathed a word to Lord Nott.  Anastasia had told Theo the moment he had slipped on the Heir Nott ring at age nine, when Lord Nott had been in a bad way and at Saint Mungoes and had finally relented to _officially_ Naming Theo his Heir. 

The man had been trying to find another wife- to bear him a different, legitimate heir- but no matter what he did he never quite managed to get his plans to work right.  The strangest things went awry during his plans- he liked to rant loudly, even if they no longer feared his wand- and he just couldn’t manage to keep up his veneer of charm or wealth going strong enough to find a woman willing to marry him.

Theo had gone into the Family archives- where none of the others were allowed- and brought back information to better help Anastasia, who in turn tried to help all of them.

Tellingly, the Family Magic seemed to be protecting Theo _from_ Lord Nott instead of alerting Lord Nott to their ‘deception’.

Anastasia had been extremely reluctant to branch out too far, even given her advantageous gift.  Time was, as she’d mentioned before, rather fluid and it was rather difficult to make an entirely firm decision on anything still in flux when dealing with time’s rather chaotic and open-ended nature.  Anastasia was quite good at peeing into past events- especially given Anchors or a Connection- but trying to tap into the best way to get them all out from under Lord Nott’s cruel thumb was another matter entirely.

But there are fixed events in time.  Events that happen and strengthen a certain timestream’s hold on reality, and so when Heather Potter had been attacked by Roland Yaxley and the Black Magic rose up to protect her, Anastasia had sense a chance.

Now, all she had to do was seize it.

“Potter, a word?”  She called out clearly, trying to make herself appear as unthreatening as possible.

**\--XXX---**

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――


	16. Convergence

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**\--XXX---**

Harry spun around to face whoever had addressed him, nearly tripping over Ron and almost sideswiping Neville.

‘ _I don’t have time for this shit.  Heather-feather’s Flying lesson starts in less than fifteen minutes and I need to be there!  ‘feather sometimes gets really scared of heights!’_   He thought rather grumpily as he readjusted his bag a little.  “Can I help you?”  He asked shortly.

The girl- ah, she was a Prefect like Percy- stepped forward slowly showing her hands like some sort of blackjack dealer.  “I have something sensitive that I need to speak with you about.  It’s rather pressing.”  Her expression twisted a little.  “I can understand you wanting to have a friend with you, but it’s rather…..personal business.

‘ _Family business likely_.’  Harry thought, not particularly worried for his own safety after Heather’s little display with Yaxley.

Harry sighed gustily, but Heather had taught him to never ignore a person who seemed to be genuinely in need.  And his instincts told him that this girl was being genuine.

Sort of.

Instincts were hard to explain!

“Fine.”  Harry gave Ron a _look_.  “Remember how the good guys sometimes have to split up in ‘feather’s stories?  This is one of those times.”  Harry stepped forward and laid a hand against Ron’s shoulder.  “I’ll share with you everything I can later, but of the two of you, you’re better on a broom Ron.  So I need _you_ to look out for my sister while I deal with this, ok?  I’m not trying to make a statement or anything, but we gotta split up to keep our bases covered.”

Ron still seemed a bit mulish but nodded slowly before sending more last apprehensive look towards the girl and turning away.  “If I see Perce I’ll send him this way, yeah?”

“Good plan, I like it!”  Harry replied with far more cheer, happy when the tense lines in Ron’s shoulders seemed to fade out.  “Alright being my backup, Nev my man?”

Neville blinked and seemed to stumble a little, reddening around his ears and cheeks.  “O-of course.”

Harry nodded is satisfaction and slung a friendly arm over Neville’s- much taller, _rude_ \- shoulders.  “Well, let’s get this show on the road, then!”

**\--XXX---**

“So let me get this straight.”  Harry said, rubbing the bridge of his nose and absently wishing Mallie was here so he could have something to do with his hands.  “You want ‘feather and I’s help to essentially topple a tyrant and put your little brother in his place?  And to help maneuver your brother into a position of stability; or at least a strong enough one that won’t see you and your siblings end up as indentured servants to another House.  Like the Malfoys.””

The girl blinked at him- probably about his phrasing- but then nodded affirmatively.  “Essentially, yes.”

Harry’s first instinct was to run for Heather, but he resisted.

Not because he didn’t want her help, but because he’d spent a _lot_ of time talking to Aunt Cassie, Sirius, Grandfather, and even Remus- though not _nearly_ as much, as the man had only showed up to the Potter Party Sunday afternoon- about how to help keep Heather from overburdening herself.

_Again._

Harry also felt a little bit of kinship towards the girl.  He’d spent his whole life watching Heather run interference with Petunia and Vernon, and as the protected younger sibling he’d also seen how stressed and exhausted the constant struggle had made his sister.

At the same time, ‘feather hadn’t raised an _idiot_.

This situation needed reviewed by people far more savvy than himself.  Since his sister was out- for obvious reasons- he’d start with Aunt Andy.  Aunt Andy had been raised a Black and then had gone against her Family to marry Uncle Ted- and she’d survived the whole Blood War as a ‘blood-traitor’!  If anyone was qualified to dissect the situation and- if it proved to be a true story and not some lame gimmick or a nefarious plot of some sort- then get Aunt Cassie and Grandfather on board, it was Aunt Andy!

“Ok, this is what we’re gonna do.”  Harry decided after a long moment’s worth of consideration.  “You-“ He gestured to the girl….Anastasia he was pretty sure her name was, but don’t quote him on that.  “-are gonna write a letter to my Aunt Andy- that’s Andromeda Tonks- and lay out all your reasons, free and clear.  I’ll get some special correspondence paper from Heather, Aunt Cassie made sure she had stuff like that packed before we came back.”

The girl grimaced and Harry held up a hand to cut her off.

“You’re going to write the letter in the Library.”  He clarified easily, shifting his bag a bit.

How did Heather do this all the time?!  This crap was _annoying_!

“The excuse is that Heather wants to ask some questions- which she probably will- and……hm, I can have Percy ask you around witnesses?”  He offered, trying to sound far more confident than he felt once he noted her deepening frown.

“That would be greatly appreciated, thank you.”  She replied sincerely, letting out a quiet breath of relief.  “Percy and I often get paired up on rounds- we’re Prefects in the same Year- so him asking wouldn’t raise any suspicions.”

“’Kay. Uh- hold on.  Wait.”  _‘Note to self- get better at this kind of thing.’_   Harry tilted his head to his side and thought for a moment.  “Look, I’ll ask Percy what would be easier for him, but he’ll either bring your ‘round to the Library or to the ….sports room.  We’re there a lot, too.  Either way, it’ll give you an opportunity to write your letter in relative peace and Heather will send it off with our….secure mail method.”

 _‘Also known as Tansy the Awesome.’_ Harry tacked on inside his own mind.

“Aunt Andy will get in contact with Aunt Cassie- who is ‘feather’s senior assistant and brilliant- and then she’ll give us advice.  Well, I suppose we could send it directly to Aunt Cassie, but Aunt Andy might have some perspective that would help.  And she’s Sirius’ Healer, so she’s at Blackmoor Hall quite a bit anyways.”  Harry shrugged a little and shifted his weight a bit.  “And she’ll consult other Family members, too.  So we won’t be getting a shoddy plan of attack or anything.  This sort of thing is _way_ harder than just ‘off with his head’ and then- _boom_ \- epilogue.” Harry told the girl seriously, years of hearing Heather’s stories and learning by example putting a mature layer of certainty into the words.  “This is going to take planning, going back to the drawing board a couple times- first contact rules and everything- and plenty of nerve and cunning.  This is going to be _hard work,_ you understand that, _right_?”

Anastasia- he was _pretty_ _sure_ that was her name, but he didn’t want to say it and be _wrong_ \- nodded, seeming resolute.

Ugh.  This was taking _forever_!

“It seems sort of backwards and convoluted, but all of those people are Family.”  Harry gave the girl a fierce glower.  “And I need _all_ of their opinions before I decide what to do.”  Harry blinked a few times and grinned good-naturedly.  “And _how_ to do it.”

“Fair enough.”  The girl replied with a hesitant smile.  “I’ll be sure to pay extra attention to Percy.”

“Sounds good.”  Harry chirped, slinging an arm around Neville and heading for the door.  “Gotta go!  Later!”

Then they were out of the room and heading through the halls towards the quidditch pitch.

**\--XXX---**

A few hallways and a shortcut later, Harry abruptly stopped and pulled Neville into an unused room, waving his wand at the door and unleashing a short string of incantations Neville didn’t understand.

But Neville would look back someday and jokingly say, ‘and that was the beginning of my involvement in the Potter-Black Mayhem’.

Apparently satisfied, Harry tucked his wand away and turned to Neville, his green eyes sharp and serious.  “Look, man, I’m sorry you sorta got dragged into this, but I really need your help with something.  Will you hear me out?”

Neville was…..speechless.

Harry Potter asking him- him!- ‘squibby’ Neville Longbottom….for _help_?

This was…..bizarre.

“I-I don’t think I’d be much good.”  Neville whispered shamefully, dropping his gaze to the floor and cursing his weak magic.

Today had been going so well, too!

He’d been recruited- along with the other First Year boys and the Weasley brothers- to help make sure Harry’s sister never walked anywhere alone.

_“Like, don’t smother her- she gets really grouchy when that happens!- but I don’t want to take any chances, you know?”  Harry said with a frown as he scrubbed a hand through his unruly hair.  “I mean, ‘feather can totally take care of herself, but I’d rather she not have to.  And I just have this feeling that there are those who are just waiting for Heather to be alone to corner her- for one reason or another.”  He sighed and crossed his arms, eyebrows furrowed in distaste.  “I’d just rather not give them a chance.  She doesn’t show it, but the Yaxley Incident really shook her.”_

They’d all agreed.  And then Harry had asked him- Neville Longbottom!- to watch his back while they talked to a much older Slytherin student! No one had ever even implied that Neville was good enough with magic to be worth of such trust. 

Well, Gran believed in him, but she also tended to call him ‘Frank’ sometimes. 

Aunt Callidora always said that Gran had never been the same since his parents had been attacked.  Not many people knew that Augusta Longbottom had been visiting that night and lost her husband as well as her son and daughter-in-law. 

Gramps used the Longbottom Family Magics to save Gran, using them to transfer the slow-moving curses that were killing both of them to himself and to transport both Neville and his Gran to one of the Family Safe Rooms.

Bertram Longbottom was the only Lord Longbottom in the past hundred and fifty years to be cremated, to ensure that no lingering effects lingered in his corpse.  They had even had to- under duress- hire a Necromantic Absolver to check to make sure there hadn’t been a Line Curse laid down as well.

There had been.

So, while still reeling from a brush with death, suffering from Marriage Bond Bereavement, and having been unable to leave the Safe Room until Great-Uncle Algie came and unlocked the wards- nearly a full day later- Gran had had to make a terrible choice.

Her grandson’s and daughter-in-law’s lives or the slimmest possibility of salvaging her son’s sanity?

The Family Magics were weakened greatly from the abrupt loss of their Lord and Master, and Neville’s father- Frank- hadn’t thought to- or had been unable to- use them to save himself and Alice. 

Given that they were Aurors, Aunt Callidora always said that they _chosen_ to fight. 

Auntie Callidora was the one who had explained to him that his parents hadn’t been being reckless- as some liked to complain within Neville’s hearing, especially during parties- but that his parents had cared deeply for him.  And that it was their love for him that gave them the courage to fight the Death Eaters that attacked that night.  Auntie Callidora steadfastly proclaimed that Frank and Alice Longbottom had been trying to do their duty- to serve the people and protect the innocent- that night.

_“Upholding one’s Oaths in the face of certain death is nothing to be ashamed of.”  Aunt Callidora tutted disapprovingly when she’d found him huddled behind a pillar, trying his best to cry without making any noise whatsoever, terrified of disrupting the Bones’ Yule party with his snotty face.  “And don’t let any of those old biddies try and tell you otherwise!  Now tell Auntie Callidora who she needs to eviscerate, little one.”_

Aunt Callidora had always been Neville’s confidant.  The older lady often inviting him to tea after he and Gran had gone to visit his parents at Saint Mungoes.  Gran usually needed some alone time afterwards and Aunt Callidora would patiently listen to him talk about his visits without judgement.   Sometimes Gran would get terribly angry about their little tea times and then pretend as if she hadn’t gone on a nasty tirade the next day, which had confused the heck out of little Neville.

One day, he’d worked up the nerve to ask her why Gran seemed to resent Aunt Callidora and Neville’s relationship sometimes.

_“Because we suspect that the Line Curse, unfortunately, mostly came from Belllatrix.”  Aunt Callidora sighed heavily, her eyes dreadfully forlorn.   “Bellatrix was- is, I suppose- as brilliant as she was ruthless. Losing her so-called ‘Lord’ would have made her especially so, and the madwoman they dragged before the Tribunals was a twisted parody of the girl I once knew.”  Aunt Callidora shook her head sadly and fussed with the tea service.  “She paid a heavy, heavy price to invoke such a powerful Curse. Those boys were also….touched.  I don’t know what sort of preparations she made beforehand, but that Line Curse she laid down against House Longbottom was the strongest, most intricate that Madam Sangiunar said she’d ever seen, and she’s rumored to be nearly two millennia old!”_

_Neville’s eyes had gone wide as saucers, but he’d stayed quiet._

_“I contributed a great deal to the breaking of the Line Curse- and I’ve been a firm and vocal supporter of the anti-You-Know-Who efforts- so Gussie tries to ignore the fact that I was born into the same House that caused her to lose so much.”  Aunt Callidora’s eyes seemed to glisten for a moment before she blinked the moisture away firmly.  “At any rate, we managed to overcome most of the Line Curse Conditions, but I’m afraid it had consequences.”  Aunt Callidora reached across the table and gripped Neville’s small hands firmly, giving him one of those no-nonsense glowers she was infamous for.  “And don’t you- even for a moment- doubt that your Gran loves you with all her heart, soul, and magic.  Just like your Gramps and your parents.  The results of Absolving the Line Curse were ones we gladly paid and don’t you ever think otherwise.”_

It was the one bit of advice he’d never quite managed to take to heart, out of all the advice that Aunt Callidora had given him over the years.

But Neville wasn’t sure-

“Look, man.”  Harry had walked closer and gripped Neville’s shoulders in that type of firm, reassuring grip that Neville had seen other father’s do to their sons and he’d always wanted to experience himself.

That it came from a classmate was a bit disorienting, but it didn’t make the gesture any less warm or moving.

‘ _Don’t cry_!’  He ordered himself firmly.  ‘ _Don’t you dare cry!_ ’

“-that’s fine.  But I really think that you’d be the best guy for this job, ya know?”  Harry grinned a little but his eyes were still serious.  Sharp.  “Just invite her down to the greenhouses while you garden.  Heather can do that whole ‘I’m here but I’m also not intruding’ thing really well.  It’s give her some peace and quiet and you some company.”  Harry’s grin faltered for a moment and he stepped back, finally releasing Neville’s shoulders and rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly.  “I mean, only if it won’t rain on your parade, I know some people have…..issues with that kind of stuff.  Just think about it, yeah?”

Harry had stepped back and waved his wand at the door, opening it up and beckoning Neville to follow before Neville finally managed to squeak out an answer-

But Neville would always remember that conversation as the Turning Point.

Occasionally with far less fondness than most other times.

**\--XXX---**

Heather eyed the piece of fancy cleaning equipment warily.

She was entirely unsure about this.

While she wasn’t scared of heights- per se- she wasn’t overly fond of them either.  Knowing she could control the broom was nice, but Heather tended to get distracted, what is she flew into a tree?

Or worse, the _castle_?

Speaking of the castle, she’d had a surprisingly easy time walking the halls since her return.  Well, she never seemed to walk the halls alone and Harry, Chromie, and Mallie seemed united in their quest to keep her distracted and secure-feeling.

There was a bit of trepidation- and quite a bit of effort to haul herself out of bed- but she was managing.

Mostly.

_‘Fake it ‘til you make it.’_

Heather was dealing, ok!?

Madam Hooch- and she really did look like a hawk; were Veela the only humanoid-type species?- blew her whistle and ordered them to command their broom to their outstretched hands.

“Up.”  Heather ordered with the same sort of firmness that she used when she called for Tansy.

And the dam thing propelled itself upwards so quickly it stung the dickens out of her hand.  “Ow!”  She yelped as she shook her hand and glared at the bobbing broom.  “That _hurt_.”

Heather felt the childish urge to kick the stupid thing in its broom-head.

“Hey, Heather!”  Ron hollered as he skidded to a stop near her, huffing and puffing as if he’d run a great distance.  “Harry got…er, caught up in something, so he asked me to fill in for him.”

Heather- still annoyed with the broom- let the lame explanation slide. Harry had been spending a bit more time with the Weasley twins they had come back, so she wouldn’t pry.

Not when she was trying to light the broom on fire with the sheer strength of her gaze, at least.

“Thanks, Ron.”  Heather replied, still shaking out and rubbing feeling back into her abused hands.  “I appreciate your support, even if my brother’s a chronic worrywart.”  She shot the boy a quick smile and ruffled his wild hair playfully.  “I can, _occasionally_ , find my way to the Great Hall and the tower.”

Ron grinned and straightened up.  “Yeah, well, what are brothers for, then?”

Heather laughed and finally put her hand back on the bobbing and impatient seeming broom.  “Ok.  Me and you, broomy.  Let’s do this.”  Then she resolutely slung a leg over the stupid thing and was surprised to feel what reminded her of a cross between a bike seat and a saddle.

Nana Anna and Gramps had had friends in the country, so the twins had actually ridden ponies a few times.  Horses, too, but they had only been allowed to ride with an adult behind them or holding the reins for them.

Also, Heather loved Aunt Cassie’s skirts.  The crazy things seemed to sense the broom or something and parted into two sections, which allowed Heather to not fear for the sanctity of her undergarments.

Eh, _magic_.

“Here.”  Ron said, readjusting her grip and then helping her fit properly into the bloody invisible stirrups.  The stupid things were rather flimsy and made to move around, so it was sort of difficult given Heather’s thick soled boots and the voluminous fabric of her skirt.  “There.”  Ron pronounced, satisfied after a few long moments of fussing.  “Now, you’re in ‘hover mode’ right now, so you just need to flex your ankles to engage ‘fly mode’.”  Ron stepped back a bit.  “Charlie always said that good brooms more react to the instincts of your magic- ‘cause it gets in everything we do?- than any actual commands, so that’s how I learned.  I mostly just try and keep my mind focused on which direction and stuff I want go and it just….does it?”  Ron’s ears reddened a bit and he coughed awkwardly.  “’Emergency landing’ is three thumps with your fist on any part of the broom.”

“Okay.”  Heather replied, swallowing thickly and trying to mentally prepare herself.

After another minute of dallying and an encouraging ‘thumbs up’ from Ron, Heather flexed her ankles firmly.

And-

Heather laughed a bit breathlessly as she took off, sailing upwards in a gentle slope and marveling at the earth disappearing underneath her.

It was just so _easy_.  Even with her glasses!

She whooped in delight and spiraled downwards, pulling up in plenty of time and then shooting back into the air.  She repeated her actions several time, and with each repetition her actions smoothed.  She lost count fairly quickly- and didn’t notice her absent maneuvering around her fellow fliers- and completely lost track of all sense of time until she heard her brother catcalling her from somewhere down below.

“GO ‘FEATHER!”  Harry was hollering like an idiot.  “WOOHOO!”

Soon enough her brother had found a broom and the twins took turns racing each other, spinning around in maneuvers that should have been somewhat dangerous but were simple extensions of their everyday interactions.

By the time Heather registered Madam Hooch blowing her whistle and the twins raced towards the ground- Harry won only because Heather didn’t want to crash and somehow end up in Madam Pomfrey’s care _again_ \- she was red-cheeked from the wind and smiling from ear to ear.  Her feet touched the grass and Ron came over to help her off the hovering broom- her legs were so sore!- and she wrapped him up in a huge hug before placing a loud, smacking kiss against his cheek.  “Best.  Teacher.  Ever.”  She informed him brightly as he flailed in her hold.

“I think it might have something to do with natural talent, too.”  Madam Hooch spoke up from behind Heather, causing the girl to tip her back to look at the teacher upside-down.  “But having my teaching expertise praised is always nice.”

Heather- far too happy and relaxed to care overmuch- gave Madam Hooch a thumb up.  “The technical data was very helpful-“  Heather nodded firmly, as if it was a very solemn bit of information. “- but Ron’s tips really helped, too!”

Madam Hooch smirked crossed her arms.  “Well, far be it from me to take _all_ the credit.”  She grinned at the very red-faced Ron, who Heather had yet to let go of.  “Well, as my new little assistant, you can lock up Mister Weasley.”

Madam Hooch tossed the gaping Weasley boy a key attached to a string.  “Make sure to space them apart so the bristles don’t get bent!”  The woman hollered cheerfully before she left them alone with the scattered brooms.

Granted, there was only about five of them, but the shed was all the way across-

_Oh._

_‘Madam Hooch, you are an awesome lady!’_

“Last one to the shed is a rotten egg!”  Heather sing-songed as she hopped back on her broom.  “Come on, Nev!  It’s me and you against the Worrywarts!”

Heather led Neville across the pitch, a wide grin on her face and the cries of ‘we are not!’ ringing in her ears.

She and Neville lost, but even he was laughing as he half hopped, half-fell of his broom near the shed.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――


	17. Chapter 17

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Percy pursed his lips in annoyance as he watched Heather deal with another round of incessant questions from Hermione Granger.

The twins had been back for five nights and Harry’s first quidditch game was tomorrow.

Harry had also point-blank asked for Percy’s help in getting materials to Anastasia Nott so that she could write an ‘important’ and ‘urgent’ letter.  Percy had gotten the materials from Harry and done his rounds last night, solo, so that she could write the letter.  Much like his sister, Harry insisted on paying Percy for his time- which was very nice, he was planning to asking Penny Clearwater out on a date, which he could now easily afford- and Percy was just sort of exceedingly fond of the two younger kids.

While most of the other First Year Gryffindor girls had ben staunch supporters of Heather, Hermione had been…..a bit more difficult. 

Even after Sophie- now Sophie Arandar, Ward of House Black-  had loudly and clearly outlined Yaxley’s motives with the attack, Granger still was having a great deal of difficulty processing Heather’s part in Yaxley losing an arm.

To some extent Percy could sympathize with the First Year’s struggle to understand what happened and how to react.  He’d always looked up to authority, too.  And he was ambitious like Granger was, stuck in a House that didn’t seem to appreciate courage that didn’t come in the form of brute force.

Then again, Percy was a big brother and had been raised in the wizarding world.  Yaxley had been _way_ the hell out of line and he was lucky Heather was naturally a kind person or he would have fared much, much worse.

But no matter Heather’s assurances and calm reasoning, the other girls were slowly losing their patience for Hermione’s rounds of rather invasive and insensitive questioning.  And given what Ron had come to him with about Harry- and Ron coming to Percy was alarming enough- the male half of the Potter twins was about ready to snap.

And that was Heir Potter now, to Heather’s Lady Black, but Percy had been sworn to secrecy about the last part.  News of the twins’ change in status hadn’t been made widely known yet, though there was plenty of speculation.

Her Black ring was on her left hand, and Heather’s robe sleeves tended to cover all the way to her fingertips.  There were a surprising- or not- amount of people who dismissed the ring, thinking it was a consolation prize or something.

And, well, with Harry recruiting a small army to run interference to ensure that Heather and Sophie always had a ‘buddy’, most never really got close enough to see the House of Black Crest stamped proudly on the front of the thing.  House Protection rings weren’t unheard of, though they were certainly uncommon, so right now _that_ was the prevailing theory about Heather’s new ring.

_Idiots_. 

The girl had summoned an aether beast made _entirely of magic_ that looked nothing like the House of Potter Avatar! 

According to what little was known about them, the House of Potter Avatar was a beast with a lion’s head, the wings of a Rainbow Crow, and the body of a feline- such as a panther.  It was rumored to have the tail-feathers of a Rainbow Crow in two of the accounts, while another said the Potter Avatar had ‘a tail that trailed after it, as a whip’.

Meanwhile, the House Black Avatar was quite notorious for having accounts that reckoned it to ‘the Erinyes of Erebus’.  And there were only two- _two_!- accounts of people having seen the Avatar and been in any state to tell the tale! 

Or even _part_ of it.

Even the peripheral witnesses to the event- drawn by the burst of magic- couldn’t properly describe the beast that screeched so loudly that part of the castle _shook_.   Almost immediately the Headmaster had arrived in a burst of fire- courtesy of Fawkes the Phoenix, no doubt- and had kept everyone away.

But one couldn’t dismiss the results.  Only supremely Dark curses- that a First Year could never hope to cast- or Family Magic could do the type of damage Yaxley and his accomplices had suffered.

Well, unless you were Draco Malfoy.  But the smug prick didn’t seem to even realize all the damage he was doing to his own reputation- and his father’s reputation- by his recent behavior.  Even Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle seemed to be distancing themselves a bit and Pansy Parkinson’s cousins had been firmly seating her with them- with the upper Slytherin students- during meals.

It was rather interesting from a social and political standpoint, but the attempt by grown men- a staff member, even!- to cause harm to Heather Potter made Percy’s hackles raise.

Dismissing his line of thought, Percy watched as Granger said something that caused the others near Heather to starts sniping at her for while Heather- who looked exhausted- tried to keep things civil.

In the end Granger stomped off, teary-eyed, while Heather closed her eyes and seemed to visibly pray for patience while the others nearby muttered, shooting dark looks in the direction Granger had disappeared in.

**\--XXX---**

Percy found Hermione a few classrooms over from the tower, angrily swiping tears from her eyes as she sat, curled up against the wall in the furthest corner of the room. 

She glanced up and glared, only to falter at the sight of him, of all people.  “Percy?”  She said, voice wavering a bit as her bottom lip wobbled dangerously.

Percy smiled wanly and walked over to her, sliding down the wall to sit beside her, his back to the furthest most wall of the dusty room.  “I’ve always been the odd gnome out in my family.”  Percy finally said after a long moment of stilted silence, threading his wand through his fingers in an absent gesture he’d had since- well, forever. 

It used to be blades of grass or quills before it was his wand. 

“Quiet.  Respectful.  Not really daring or anything.”  He smiled humorlessly as he stared sightlessly out at the far wall.  “Bill’s wicked smart and good at _everything_.  Charlie has been obsessed with dangerous creatures and how to take care of them all of his life- he brought home a Runespoor once.  Had it wrapped around his arm, cooing at it when mum called us in for lunch one day.  Mum _fainted_.”

Hermione huffed a bit, so he hoped that meant she found his quip funny.

“The twins.  Ah those two.”  Percy shook his head a bit exasperatedly and finally glanced over at Granger, his lips quirking up in a grin.  “Those two have always been little terrors.  Sometimes a bit _too_ much,” Percy admitted rather wryly as he slung an arm over Granger’s shoulders in a natural brotherly move and she cuddled up next to him easily.

Much to his relief.

“And Ron- well, he doesn’t particularly see it, but he’s a good kid.  Smart, though maybe not in a bookish manner.  Give that kid some time and he can plot his way out just about any trouble.”  Percy grinned down at his side leech.  “And the youngest- Ginny, she’ll be at Hogwarts next year- is the only girl and a spitfire.  She sneaks out and flies brooms at night and has got an arm as mean as any Beater.  She wants to be a professional quidditch player, even though mum says it’s not a ladylike ambition.”  Percy’s grin faltered a bit.  “And then there’s _me_.”

Percy leaned his head back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling, gathering his thoughts for a moment.

“I’m not as smart as Bill or fearless like Charlie.”  He said slowly, the words dragging themselves out from somewhere painful in his gut and scorching his throat on their way out.  “I’m not ingenious like the twins or crafty like Ron.  I’m not even as driven as Ginny.”  Percy smiled humorlessly.  “I’m just Percy.  I get good grades because I study hard and memorize the rules, not because I’m naturally talented with spells.  When I arrived as a First Year I was resigned to Ravenclaw, even though mum and dad and all my uncles were in Gryffindor.”  Percy swallowed thickly and pressed forward, trying to get to his point.  “But I ended up in Gryffindor.”  Percy smiled humorlessly at the ceiling.  “And I’ve felt like an imposter- a fake- the entire time I’ve been here.”

There it was, Percy’s biggest secret.

“Then this summer all the stuff with Sirius Black happened- the real traitor hid away as my pet, did you know that?- and I felt even more like a phony.  Even my own siblings looked at me weird, as if I should have known.”  Percy chuckled, the sounds harsh and empty.  “And you know who made me feel better about that?”

“Heather.”  Granger whispered softly, curling into Percy’s side a bit more.

“Sort of.  Dad and mum told us that the Potter twins had sent us some money out of the stuff that had been left to them by others for defeating You-Know-Who.”  Percy explained, absently pressing a kiss to Granger’s wild hair before remembering himself and flushing in embarrassment.  “We’re poor, but we don’t take charity.  And then dad explained that they felt like we were victims, too.   Victims of circumstance, mostly, and that the money wasn’t being thrown to us in pity, but solidarity.  Because the Potter twins know better than most that money can’t buy happiness or bring back the dead, but that it could buy time for us to heal, as a family.”

“But-“  Granger started, only to cut herself off and frown intently.  “But she maimed a _teacher_.  He was just talking to her and she burned his arm off all the way to the shoulder.  How’s he supposed to make Potions for a living with one arm?”

“He probably won’t.”  Percy replied honestly.  “But, I think you’re thinking about this situation a bit wrong.”

Granger peeked at him with one eye, thoughtful.  “How?”

“Instead of focusing on the part where Yaxley was hurt, ask yourself how you would react to being cornered by seven wizards.”  Percy held up a hand and gave her his best stern stare.  “I’ve heard you say she could have screamed for help- and that’s true.  But I think you’re forgetting yourself a bit.  _Magic_ , Granger.  Silencing spells and other things like that _exist_ and are _taught in class_ , let alone by fancy tutors like the greater Families have.”  Percy’s stare softened a bit.  “Magic is wonderful, but it’s a two ended wand, too.  There are particular rules that Old Heirs _have_ to follow, traditions that stretch back far beyond what muggles remember.  That’s a _lot_ of generations of tradition and magic passed down.  And part of that is that the Heir sigils protect their bearer _with extreme prejudice_.”

Granger huffed and worried her bottom lip with her teeth.  “I suppose-“  She began rather reluctantly.  “-that I can sort of see it a bit easier now.  It’s more like her heir-thingy protected Heather and not that she meant to burn off Professor Yaxley’s arm.”  Her brows furrowed as she puzzled out her feelings on the matter. 

“Also keep in mind that Heather is a First Year like you.  Raised in the muggle world until early this summer.  She’s had _a lot_ to learn in a very short amount of time and I don’t imagine she knows many more spells than you- possibly less, thanks to all the noble stuff she’s had to try to learn in three months instead of her entire childhood.”  Percy pointed out reasonably.  “Even if there _are_ spells she _could_ have used, she likely couldn’t think of any before her Family protections kicked in and took care of the threat for her.”

“I got separated from my parents while we were on holiday once.”  Hermione told Percy slowly, seemingly tasting her words as she spoke them.  “I was corned by three men I couldn’t understand with huge muscles and nasty expression.  One even had a knife and was pointing it at me.  I couldn’t even scream, I was so scared.  And then my dad showed up and fought them off- he was in Her Majesty’s service before he retired and married my mum- and I just…..stood there.  Frozen.”  Hermione glanced up at Percy, tears filling her eyes again.  “Oh!  I’ve been so horrible, haven’t I?  I got so caught up in what happened to Professor Yaxley- because he’s a _teacher_ \- and I completely forgot to think about how Heather must have felt!”  Hermione buried her face in Percy’s robe and cried.  “I’ve ruined _everything_!  She’ll never forgive me for being so inconsiderate!”

“I wouldn’t say that.”  Percy assured the crying girl with a helpless amount of panic.  He’d thought they were past the tears stage!  “But you should probably apologize. Heather didn’t really seem angry, just tired and maybe a bit stressed.”

“She’s been dodging Draco Malfoy all week.  He knows I was made Heir Potter and has been spreading all sorts of rumors about ‘feather.  He hasn’t caught on to the reason _why_ just yet.  Not many idiots have, too caught up in spreading lies about the Yaxley Incident.  They’re all going to feel _really bloody stupid_ when the truth comes out.  I’m looking forward to it.”  A new voice put in, causing both of those seated on the floor to look up, finding Harry Potter not too far from the door.  “Malfoy has been the absolute worst.  He nearly caught her today and then you-“  Here Harry narrowed his eyes at Hermione, causing the girl to press back into Percy a bit.  “-cornered her as soon as she made it to the common room.”

Hermione swallowed a few times before she spoke.  “I’m-“

Harry cut her off with a hand gesture.  “I don’t care.”  He huffed a bit grouchily, and Hermione fairly wilted.

Percy couldn’t bring himself to reprimand Harry, because if Hermione had treated _Ginny_ like that…..

“I suppose I didn’t quite mean it like that.”  Harry said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration.  “What I meant is that my sister has been plenty patient and she assures me- in that really annoying I’m-your-sister-and-I-know-something-you-don’t way of hers- that _always_ turns out to be right- that you’re a genuinely good person.  Brave.  And scary smart- though no one’s as smart as ‘feather, sorry- and I can _sort_ of see it.”  Harry shrugged rather uncomfortably and offered Hermione a wan smile.  “But maybe be a little more considerate- I mean, walk a mile in someone else’s shoes before you start making inquisition lists, yeah?”

Hermione started giggling, softly at first and then so hard she was almost crying again.

Percy and Harry were extremely concerned.

“So-sorry.”  Hermione gasped a bit as she brought herself under control a little. “It’s just that- well, I don’t think anyone has ever put it like that before.”  Hermione waved a hand negligently.  “I get told to ‘be polite’ and other stuff, but I’ve never understood.  But now I do?”  She trailed off, her giggles tapering off and her embarrassment nearly frying the skin on her cheeks.  “It’s just- I mean- it just sort of _clicked_?”

Harry grinned good-naturedly, though his eyes were still a little cool.  “Happy to help.”  He said, rocking back on his heels a bit before shrugging, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and turning to leave.  “Just don’t be that much a jerk to my sister again, ok?  I’m only going to overlook this kind of thing _once_ , no matter what Heather says.”

“I’ll do my best.”  Hermione promised sincerely as Harry stepped outside and closed the door gently behind him.  “Thank you, Percy.”  Hermione told the Prefect, chagrined but much happier, though she was a little anxious to apologize to Heather and put the incident behind her.  “You helped me a lot.  I think it was what made Harry’s words click in my head.”

Percy shrugged a bit sheepishly and replied, “I’m a Prefect.”

“A good one.”  Hermione agreed, rising on her tiptoes to press a grateful kiss to Percy’s cheek before she darted towards the door, snatching up her bag along the way.

Percy was left alone in an abandoned classroom, rather bemusedly going over the events in his head.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Harry piled his breakfast plate with oatmeal- well, porridge- some eggs, fruit, and a tall glass of milk.  Across from him Heather was digging into a bacon-lettuce-tomato sandwich with a happy grin.

She’d bribed someone along the way to ask for those things- there usually wasn’t any lettuce at breakfast- and orange juice as an alternative to the pumpkin juice or milk or tea and this was the first morning she’d sampled the Hogwarts elves’ efforts.

Actually the new addition had been quite popular, and Padma- Parvati’s sister- had come and stolen a pitcher of orange juice for the Ravenclaw table.

There were a fair few people who were looking aghast at Heather for her breakfast sandwich, but ‘feather was ignoring them.

Harry was forcing himself to eat things that would give him plenty of fuel, but not be too hard on his stomach.  He was quite nervous for his first quidditch game, but he’d had some practice with tennis tournaments, so at least he had Coach’s advice to fall back on.  The game didn’t start until eleven, but Harry had wanted to give his body plenty of time to digest everything so they had been down to breakfast by eight-thirty.

Usually on Saturday mornings they grabbed some toast and then went to warm up for an afternoon of tennis.  Then they came back and ate a more substantial and spent a few hours in the library or common room before returning to the tennis room until lunch.  After lunch Heather usually spent at least an hour or two working on organizing her notes or writing letters while the others played a board game or napped, then they played more tennis until dinner.

It was fun!

Dean and Seamus were more excited for having something active to do than about tennis itself, but Neville and Ron were shaping up to be a decent doubles team.

Sophie and Heather made a pretty good team, too.  Sophie wasn’t always there, though, because she was really active with the Choral Club.

Harry really missed video games.  He was super excited about magic but disappointed that there was no Nintendo or Atari equivalents.  The twins had been playing games like _Final Fantasy_ and _Dragon Quest_ for ages.  Starting at the Pritchard house and then moving to their bedroom at Number Four later on.  They had to hide them and use blanket and stuff to block sound and light, but they were super fun.

Hm. 

Harry was now Heir Potter, he could do something about this oversight, couldn’t he?

There _had_ to be Hogwarts graduates that were interested in video games and stuff and with magic they could be _so much cooler_!  Harry doubted that anything could be done about such a thing right now, because innovation took time, but thirteen was an important time for Heirs and Heiress.  That’s when all the ‘coming of age’ balls really started and to decline would be _impolite_ , so magical video games could be Harry’s super awesome present to his sister to help keep her from snapping some idiot like a twig after being paraded around like a Westminster dog.

Could Harry keep a secret from Heather that long?

…….he’d have to recruit Sirius.  And Remus.  Possibly Gramps, Kris, and Coach.

Grandfather and Aunt Cassie wouldn’t be too much help, he didn’t think, but maybe Aunt Andy and Uncle Ted could help, too?

That reminded him!  They needed to send this month’s letter to the Pritchards soon!

Well, no time to start like the present!  He’d have to add something into this latest letter, somehow without ‘feather noticing.

_‘I could always bribe Fred and George to show Heather around the castle.’_   He mused as he chewed his latest bit of breakfast thoroughly _.  ‘She still gets lost a lot.  Heather is many things, but a natural navigator she is not.’_

Oh, man!  This was going to be _awesome_!

**\--XXX---**

Heather was a bit more concerned by the slightly rickety looking stands that were likely made sometime in 1324 than she was about Harry flying around like some sort of wind sprite.

Flying was _fun_!

Harry just looked rather natural darting about and the he seemed to be having a ton of fun nullifying the dirty tactics being employed by the Slytherin team.

Coach Rachel had been quite particular about how to deal with bad sportsmen.

Of course the newer brooms helped the rather more cohesive Gryffindor team triumph over the clearly less teamwork-inclined Slytherin team. 

Oliver Wood nearly fell off his broom when Gryffindor won the game, 170 to 60, at the sixty-seven minute mark.

**\--XXX---**

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――


	18. Dreamer

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather laughed so hard she nearly toppled over as Percy eyed the piece of Jenga wood with quite a bit of offense.

Watching wizard-born students try and play Jenga was _hilarious_.  Tonight the First Years had managed to wrangle Percy into playing with them in the little corner of the common room that Heather and Harry had pretty much claimed.  It was back in a corner that was a bit too bright for amorous couples to make use of, so the First Years pretty much had free reign of it.

Mostly thanks to Percy and his refusal to let some upper years try and push around the ‘ickle Firsties’.

“And that ends Round Two!”  Harry chirped with a grin as he handed Ron the little plastic wedge thing.  Between Harry and Dean’s quick fingers and Ron’s steady hold on the plastic support, the game was rather quickly reassembled.

Save for the piece Percy was still glaring at.

“It should have held.”  Percy asserted firmly as he surrendered the block of wood to Harry’s impatient hand gestures and stared at the Jenga tower in confusion.  “I don’t understand why it fell over.  It _should have held together_.”

Finally noticing that Percy seemed genuinely upset, Heather quelled her giggles and tried to understand.  “Why is that, Percy?”

“Well, _everyone_ knows that when you build something it needs to pitch right or left.”  Percy exclaimed, flustered.  “Otherwise the construction magics will warp the structure’s foundation and supports!  It has something to do with the nature of magic and- well, it’s all outlined in the Balbus-Vitruvius Harmonious Architectural Accords.  They’re the earliest known writings of magical architecture- well, the successful construction and sustained, er, life of a magical building that didn’t collapse or explode for a change.  Those Accords are what _all_ European magical construction is based on!  It’s why just warding a muggle house is such a safety concern for the Ministry, because they’re constructed entirely differently than magical homes!  Places or Families that can afford an Artisan Magicshaper can offset the requisite pitch into things like arches or the slopes of the rooftops or inclines in the floors- but taking another side piece from the left side should have _stabilized_ it, not caused it to _collapse_!”

“Wow, really?”  Harry interjected with enthusiasm.  “I mean, Gramps liked to make little dollhouses and stuff for charities so I know a little about building stuff- but on the nonmagical side it’s all about weight distribution and keeping things even.”

“Yeah.”  Dean added, looking at Percy curiously.  “My dad is a contractor and my mum designs stuff.  Well, she never finished school ‘cause she had me, but she’s sort of an assistant or idea partner to my dad’s Boss, and so I’ve grown up around construction and design.  What you’re suggesting just seems…..bizarre to me.”

“Really?”  Percy inquired, blinking owlishly behind his oval lenses.  “Because the idea of something _not_ needing to be offset to compensate for normal magics- like fire proofing charms or sealing spells- is completely….odd to me.”

“Well, I suppose we’ve uncovered another cultural difference.”  Heather laughed good-naturedly, digging out her day planner and jotting down a note.  “Which is good!  Because now we know about it, so we can learn from it!”  She grinned at Percy.  “Thanks, Percy!”

Percy muttered under his breath a bit and the tips of his ears turned bright red, but he nodded rather officiously, which caused everyone else to snicker.  “Yes, well.  Now that I know, I shan’t make the same mistake again.”

“Good!”  Harry chirped with a competitive grin.  “Because this is the tie breaker game!  And whoever wins gets to pick the next game!”

“I have no desire to play that ridiculous money game again when there’s that delightful word game to play.”  Percy sniffed in offense as he gingerly worked a piece of word from the tower and placed it cautiously on the top.  “Besides, last time you miscreants played that money game it took nearly an entire week to finish!”

“And I won!”  Ron chipped in with a wide grin, causing disgruntled mutters and evil looks to be thrown his way.  “I had _all the_ _money_.”

“You’re our only hope, Percy!”  Heather laughed as she watched Neville’s steady hands not even cause the tower to quiver worryingly as his turn came and went.  “You can do this!”

Fifteen minutes later, they were playing Scrabble.  Much to the very smug Percy’s satisfaction.

**\--XXX---**

“Sure, if it won’t bother you, Nev.”  Heather replied slowly, her brows drawing together in thought as she mentally processed Neville’s query.

“You w-won’t bother me, H-Heather.”  Neville managed to say somewhat steadily, despite the color rapidly filling his exposed face and neck.  “It’ll be n-nice to have someone to walk back to the t-tower with.”

Heather blinked a few times and then smiled brightly.   ‘ _Didn’t Neville have a ton of trouble with bullies?_ ’  “Yeah!  Let me just grab a few things from my dorm, ok?”

Neville’s smile was sincere, even if she was a little worried about his blood pressure.

―◊―

There was something soothing to her soul about reclining on a patch of comfy sungrass-and-lovegrass while Neville tended the plants in Greenhouse Three.

At first she had been a little worried that she was disturbing Neville- he seemed terribly awkward- but as she read her book and made notes on her planner instead of mocking him for his plant chatter, the two fell into a much easier, companionable stillness.

Greenhouse Three hosted plants that needed an excess of sunlight, but as any true green thumb worth their greenness, Pomona Sprout ensured that not a single nook or cranny of her domain went underutilized.  Still, the charms and pitch of the roof meant that there was plenty of light and warmth, despite it being rather cold outside and nearly the heart of winter.

Perfect for Heather to grab a few precious hours of peace.

As it was, she was startled out of a pleasant haze by Neville clearing his throat lightly, pointing to the grandfather clock that seemed to have merged with the wall of the greenhouse at some point when he noticed he had her attention.

 _‘Oh my- I can’t believe it’s been nearly four hours!’_   She thought as gathered her things and shot Neville a grateful look.  “Sorry!”  Heather chirped as they made their way out of the greenhouse.  “I guess I sort of zoned out!”

“It happens to me, too.”  Neville replied, cheerful and confident.  “It was sort of nice, though, to have someone else with me.”

 _‘He’s adorable.’_   Heather thought warmly as she linked arms with her classmate and laughed brightly.  “Well, anytime you need someone sit in the background and read, I’m your girl!”

Neville’s spluttering at her choice of words- it had been entirely accidental!- was positively _hilarious_!

**\--XXX---**

Sophie and Sally-Anne shrieked with laughter as they followed Heather through the sharp turns of the northern section of Gryffindor Tower.

The Weasley twins had been utterly enthralled with the idea of ‘laser tag’ and Harry had been entirely too ready to feed them galleons in order to develop a wizarding version.

Heather was rather startled at Fred and George’s quick manufacturing process, but to be fair the Weasley twins swore up and down that the game was still in its ‘testing’ phase.

Hence the current situation.

Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were Team Green.  Harry, Ron, and Neville were Team Red- well, it was more of a pink at the moment.  Sophie, Sally-Anne, and Heather were Team Yellow.  Hermione, Seamus, and Dean were Team Blue.  Oliver Wood and Percy were the ‘hostages.’

The teams were all wearing charmed shirts and cargo pants that corresponded to their team colors.  To pacify Heather and Percy’s safety concerns, they also had charmed safety goggles to protect their eyes- though the Weasley twins swore they were looking into ‘much more wicked looking’ alternatives. 

The Weasley twins had somehow charmed water guns- those super cheap type with the plastic triggers- with ‘ammunition’, though they only held ten shots before needing to be ‘refilled’ at the team’s ‘base’.  If the guns themselves were hit three consecutive times by the ‘enemy’ teams, it weapon would need recharging immediately.  If a player was hit ‘critically’ or six times within five minutes, their shirt turned black and they had to go back to their base for five minutes before they ‘healed’. 

Well, they had to be escorted back to base, preferably by leaning on one of their fellow teammates, but that part was still a bit fuzzy in the rules.

Thankfully, Percy had clearly marked the boundaries of the game to ensure Heather didn’t get hopelessly lost.  Also so that some poor random person did not get caught up in the mayhem.

At any rate, the teams were all against each other but Harry thought that just a free-for-all would be ‘boring’. 

So they had added the ‘hostages’, who were being held in two separate, trap filled locations.  The goal was for the respective teams- Yellow and Green- to escort one hostage to their respective base, but the other two teams could ambush and ‘steal’ a hostage- taking them back to _their_ base and then forcing the escorting team to pursue them- so it was much harder than it sounded.

“Next time we see my brother’s team.”  Heather wheezed as they careened around a corner and then had to hastily duck behind the stone for protection from Blue Team.  “They are _so_ _dead_.”

“Fred said something about grenades next round, right?”  Sophie breathlessly asked, her shirt staining blue as she popped out of their cover to shoot off a few shots at their attackers before ducking back behind cover.  “Because if they’re anything like in the movies, I need me some of those!”

“Agreed.”  Sally-Anne laughed as the girls edged further down the wall and tried to double back around.  “I mean- ahh!”

Heather whipped around and ended up witnessing the moment Sally-Anne took too many shots and her shirt went dark.  “Hermione!”  Heather yelled in aggravation, taking aim and hitting the wall behind the other girl, as Hermione threw herself out of the way.  “I’m going to- eek!”

Red Team had arrived.

“Oh, you _devious_ _bastards_.”  Heather gasped as she took three shots in the chest, causing her shirt to go dark as well.

“All is fair in love and war, sister dear.”  Harry informed her with a grin as Sophie went down as well.  “Now to your base.”

“I respect the hustle.”  Heather grumbled good naturedly as the three defeated Yellow Team members began to head back towards their base, Blue Team and Red Team shamelessly following behind.

Which meant that they now knew where the Yellow Team’s base was.

 _Dammit_.

“You will rue the day!”  Heather declared once her team was up and ready once again.  “Rue, I tell you.  _Rue_.”

“’Surely you can’t be serious?”  Hermione asked with a grin, her hair splattered a variety of colors from off-kilter shots.

“I am serious!”  Heather replied pompously, placing her unoccupied hand on her hip and arching an eyebrow challenging.  “And don’t call me Shirley!”

“But-“  Hermione began only to be cut off by the arrival of Green Team.

“Now!”  Heather hissed to the other two and the Yellow Team sprang into action.

―◊―

 “Oh, love, we’ll fix you right up!”  Lavender assured the upset Hermione later that afternoon.

The paint-potion mixture from earlier didn’t want to wash out of Hermione’s hair and so Heather had called in reinforcements.

“Thanks.”  Hermione sniffed miserably.  “I don’t mean to be a bother-“

“It’s fine!”  Parvati assured the girl as she and Lavender sorted through some beauty supplies that were scattered all over Lavender’s bed.  “It’s perfectly reasonable to be a bit upset that the colors won’t come out.”

“They came out of everyone else’s hair.”  Hermione pointed out rather crossly, shifting on the desk chair that had been pulled into the middle of the gold dorm’s free space uncomfortably.  “Why did it get stuck in _mine_?”

“Honestly?”  Lavender replied a bit distractedly as she read the label on a tiny bottle.  “I think it’s because your hair is a bit dry.  You spend a lot of time in the Library and that place is so dry it sucks the moisture right out of my skin, I can’t imagine how much it saps out of your hair!”  Lavender nodded in satisfaction and uncorked the bottle, turning towards Hermione resolutely.  “We just need to get you started on a conditioning regimen is all.”

“I just use a two-in-one shampoo because it’s faster.”  Hermione admitted as Lavender dumped the contents of the phial on Hermione’s scalp and began to vigorously work the mixture through the girl’s hair.  “I don’t like to take a lot of time on my hair because I don’t see the point.”  Hermione flailed a bit and smiled hesitantly at Parvati.  “I mean-“

“No, I get it.”  Parvati smiled at Hermione; and though the smile was a bit strained it seemed genuine.  “Padma is a bit like that too.”

“If Harry didn’t braid my hair, I’d be a _disaster_.”  Heather chipped in from her spot on the floor, where she, Sophie, and Sally-Anne were painting their nails to cover up the colors that had soaked into their fingernails. 

“Hmm.  Well, if you guys can get me seven sickles each I can buy some leave-in conditioner for you that works overnight.”  Lavender informed the assorted First Years.  “It works _wonders_ and it’ll help prevent things like wind damage, sun damage- and even Potion fume damage!”

“Huh.  Good to know.”  Heather mused as she reached for Sophie’s left hand.  Her roommate had gone with a dark blue base and a silver sparkly topcoat that made her nails look like stars against a night sky.  With the right charms, the topcoat would move and twinkle!

It was pretty neat!  Even if Heather was slightly disappointed at the lack of variety in actual magical nail polish, in and of itself.

“Oh, _yeah_.”  Lavender continued as she worked the purple foaming solution towards the ends of Hermione’s hair.  “Potion fume damage is _really_ bad for your hair!  When my sister Violet was a First Year she had to shave her head and wait a week to use a hair growth potion- they work in stages, you know?- because someone messed up a potion in the NEWT class and she got caught in the fumes on her way back from a detention.”

“That’s horrible!”  Hermione exclaimed, aghast.

“Yeah.”  Sophie echoed as she admired her newly finished nails.  “My hair is, like, my shield or something.  I’d be so upset!”

“ _Oh_ _she was_.”  Lavender agreed as she efficiently looped Hermione’s hair up in sections and accepted another phial from Parvati, which she then dumped on the neatly curled sections.  “And hair regrowth potions- I mean they’re _great_ \- but they can only regrow about six inches of hair a dose.  And you can only take ‘em once every thirty days, or you end up growing random amounts of hair _everywhere_.”

“Wow.”  Heather said as Sally-Anne started to coat Heather’s nails with a cheerful sky blue.  “Imagine randomly growing six inch eyebrows!”  She waggled her eyebrows for emphasis.

Sophie held her fingers about an inch apart and measured six inches on her arm before bursting out into laughter.  “Ohmygod-“  She wheezed out through breathless gasps.  “-can you imagine trying to talk to someone who styled their eyebrows like those old men with handlebar mustaches style their….mustaches?”

Heather held that thought for a moment and then shook her head.  “No, brain!  Bad brain, _bad_ _brain_!  Stop or I’ll stab you with a q-tip!”

The other girls laughed at Heather’s dramatics.

The good news was- Lavender _did_ get the color out of Hermione’s hair.

The bad news- Heather never quite got the image of Professor Dumbledore with stylish eyebrows entirely out of her head.

**\--XXX---**

“What- _really_?”  Heather asked, her pen frozen above her parchment as she blinked at Sophie and Sally-Anne in confusion. 

“Oh.  Yeah.”  Sally-Anne confirmed cheerfully, digging her fingers into the fur behind Chromie’s ears just the way the little cat liked best.  “I mean, you really didn’t know that?”

“Huh.  No, I didn’t.”  Heather mused as she set aside her pen and leaned back in her dorm desk chair.  Sally-Anne and Sophie were hanging out on Sophie’s bed, parchments and a few books scattered around in the illusion of getting homework done, but mostly the girls were simply chatting about a story in the _Prophet_ with the intermittent response from Heather, who was replying to letters at her desk.  “Suppose it does make sense, though.  Given the general climate of things on this side of the Isles.”

“Still a bit strange to me.”  Sophie admitted as she chewed on the end of her sugarquill.  “I mean, from what Professor Flitwick and Professor McG have said, it seems like new spells are pretty rare to begin with.  Like, didn’t he say that only fifteen new spells have been registered with the Ministry this decade?”

“Yup.”  Sally-Anne confirmed with a grin as she stole a sugarquill from Sophie’s open bundle.  “But really the only people who register spells with the Spells Registration Bureau are muggleborns or half-bloods.”  She looked a bit nervous for a moment but rushed forwards anyways.  “Spells that are registered with the Bureau are usually- and I don’t mean this meanly- really poor people.”  Sally-Anne’s face reddened and she intently focused on Chromie as she continued.  “I mean, they’re paid by a Ministry schedule based on how useful the spell is, but _everyone_ knows that they don’t get paid what they _should_.  I mean, for making the spell public purview where anyone can use it.”

Sophie glanced at Heather- who nodded in encouragement- then reached out and tugged on the edge of Sally-Anne’s sleeve.  “I’m not mad, Sally-Anne.  But could you explain it better?  I don’t quite understand.”

“Um.  Sure.”  Sally-Anne replied, peeking up at both of the others and seeming to brighten and settle a bit when she realized they were angry at her.  “Public purview spells are spells anyone can use, like the ones we’re taught in class.  Business owners and regular citizens can use them, too!  New ones are usually put in the _Prophet_ , in the Ministry section, to get the word out.  But in cases like this-“  Sally-Anne pointed at the _Prophet_.  “-the store owner was using a Family spell they learned from a friend at their store.  That’s _illegal_!”

“Because it’s not public purview?”  Sophie asked, her brows drawn together in confusion.

“Sort of, but it’s not _just_ that.  I mean, spells and potion recipes and enchantment formulas can be used by other people as long as all the proper paperwork and stuff is sorted.  But to just use someone else’s spell- or Family spell- as part of a business is just……well, it’s _really_ bad form on top of being illegal.”  Sally-Anne looked back and forth between the others two and blew out an exasperated breath before trying to explain again.  “I mean, it’s like _stealing_.  Like walking into my Family’s shop and just pocketing a pair of shoes, but even worse.  Well, it’s more like stealing my Family’s spells to make shoes and stuff and then setting up a rival business across the street!  And some people get away with it for a long time, but if someone catches them and the Family objects…well, nothing good happens.  A lot of the older Families lease out spells to their friends and allies, and that’s why a lot of the businesses tend to be traced back to the really big Families- like the Blacks- or the business is really old and passes down to direct Family, like my Family’s store.”

“Is that why there aren’t, uhh, lower end stores that are like a cheaper version of the really expensive ones?”  Sophie mused contemplatively.  “I mean, there’s a lot of that in the nonmagical world- like off-brands and knock-offs- and I was really surprised that there didn’t really seem to be anything similar here.”

“Yeah, pretty much.  I mean some Families can recreate spells and stuff and use them personally, but there’s always the risk that the original owners will get wind of such a thing and file a complaint.”  Sally-Anne answered, seemingly relieved to be back on much less shaky ground.  “But it’s much more common for people to sell their spells and whatnot to Families instead of the Ministry, so even the cheaper versions are made by the same people.”

“Well, that certainly interesting.”  Heather commented as she allowed her brain to dissect and analyze that bit of information.

On the one hand, it made a hell of a lot of sense given what Heather had learned about spell creation, magical paranoia, and the rather ridiculous amount of economic power Families like hers had at their disposal.  And how even diminished Families could still be powerhouses in their own right.

So, really.  It explained a _lot_.

“I suppose I should add some things to my to-do list then.”  Heather teased, knowing full well the other two would want to know what she was talking about.

They did not disappoint.

“Well.”  Heather laughed once the other two had pouted her into spilling.  “I have noticed that regular, working women really don’t seem to have places to kick up their feet and relax for a while.”  She waved a dismissive hand and turned to dig out one of her many idea notebooks from her nearby ‘letter responses and ideas’ satchel.  “It only really hit me a few days ago when Lavender and Parvati were talking about their plans for the Easter Hols, that there’s really no place for a magical woman to get her hair done by a professional that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg.  Possibly a firstborn child as well.”

“Well, there _are_ the home spells and potion kits and stuff.”  Sally-Anne pointed out reasonably, Chromie having reclaimed her attentions.  “But even with color-changing potions and spells there’s a _huge_ difference between that and professional salons.”

“As we’ve all noticed.”  Sophie giggled.

To be fair, there had been a few hair-and-skincare incidents that had been pretty funny in the course of their Hogwarts career. 

One memorable incident was the Ravenclaw girl who overpowered her color-changing potion the second week of school.  Her hair had been a lovely rose-blonde for about a week before the potion began to turn her skin the same shade of blonde as well.  Except all uneven like those horrible fake tanners from Before.  The poor girl was just now recovering from the very embarrassing incident, as apparently the recipe she’d used had somehow resisted all of Madam Pomfrey’s efforts at flushing it.

Then there was the girl from Hugglepuff whose hair was a different shade of blonde every day, though she swore up and down it was her natural color.

There had also been that one guy- Heather forgot which House he was from- that had needed to be sent to Saint Mungoes for hexing off a good chunk of his face.  According to what Lavender and Parvati had gathered, he’d been trying to get rid of come skin blemishes.

Color-changing charms generally only lasted about a day and were a pain in the ass to replicate on organic material.  Walls and other surfaces really only needed what amounted to a swatch and a little effort, but organic material was another matter entirely.  As a matter of fact, color-changing charms that were made to be used on hair and skin were actually more of a Transfiguration than a Charm.

They had gotten a rather stern lecture on the hows and whys of why self-transfigurations- like removing blemishes from skin- were exceedingly discouraged at Hogwarts.

So, magic.  Could do awesome and amazing things, but information and knowledge were very much a limited resource to most.  Even at Hogwarts, it seemed.

Fiddly details that could make all the difference, really.

Heather, however, was still rather nonplussed about the lack of reasonably priced salons.  It just seemed terribly odd to her to not have leisure services that catered to the women of the average household.  Not to mention a startling hole in a rather lucrative business market!  Stylists in the nonmagical world might not- on average- make an excessive amount of money, but she doubted that a magical stylist would have the same struggles with overhead and labor versus competitive pricing.

In theory, at least.

Heather knew that in Whimsic there were two barber shops that catered exclusively to wealthy men.  Grandfather and Sirius had actually gone to one of them not too long ago, to get their hair- including their facial hair- groomed and their teeth checked over.

Apparently the magical world _did_ have a form of dentistry, just not where Heather had expected to find such a thing!

Also that Healers were doctors but Doctors were scholars who thought practicing the Healing Arts was beneath them.

Culture shock much?

Sirius had informed Harry that in Pureblood Traditions it was considered a rite of passage to have a legitimate Barber shave a young man’s first ‘beard’, and that the Barber who had shaved both James and Charlus’ first beards was still around and looking forward to Harry’s coming of age shave.  Sirius had also told the twins that the shops were places that were what amounted to Aunt Cassie’s version of ladies’ tea, with bits of information being traded about like coin and rumors methodically planted like a well aimed, silently-cast curse.

_“Of course, even though it’s pretty easy to shave at home and the higher-end Apothecaries sell decent salves- Charlus taught James and I to make our own, ought to whip up a batch to keep on hand- there’s nothing quite like a shave from a real Barber.  Lasts for nearly a whole week and each Barber tailors their stuff- they all make their own, usually passed down in the Family- to each specific client, so you get the best possible outcome every time.”  Sirius absently rubbed a hand over his smooth jawline and grinned.  “And it feels pretty bloody brilliant.  Way better than shaving charms!  Get those suckers wrong and you can make your chin hairs grow backwards or hex your eyebrows off!”_

Heather had also learned that for men not going to a Barber before a major event- like a Ball- was akin to a lady showing up to a party in sweatpants and a holey t-shirt.  Well, Heather had translated what Sirius had actually said to mean about the same, anyways.  At any rate, Barbers were exclusively male-oriented and an important part of Pureblood society despite the fact that magic made shaving at home rather simple.

Traditions.  Sometimes they seemed strange to an outsider, but when in Rome……

Sirius had also, rather offhandedly, told Heather that while upper-class ladies sometimes hired a personal stylist- usually foreign, as that was somehow considered ‘exotic’ as opposed to ‘cheap’- for events, grooming habits for women were sort of complicated in high society. 

Most Ladies had a lady-in-waiting who graduated from the only university for the Arts that the Isles had- the same finishing school Aunt Cassie had told Liv about, actually- and were of noble birth themselves.  Not considered a servant but more of an assistant, the lady-in-waiting assisted her Lady with just about everything, from hair care to keeping the house in order.  An actual servant girl- a lady’s companion, similar but not the same as a Companion- did most of the labor involved in helping a Lady dress and generally ensured that the Lady well turned-out for different occasions.

_“Actually, you should begin looking for your lady-in-waiting.”  Aunt Cassie commented from her comfortably straight-backed, regal chair by the fire, where she was stitching something or other.  Aunt Cassie liked to keep her hands busy.  “Olivia is a wonderful assistant, but she lacks a desire to serve in such a capacity.  I have spoken to her, at length, on the subject. However, your lady-in-waiting is one of the most important decisions you’ll ever make, so you must choose wisely.  It is why I am mentioning such now, so you may evaluate your peers before they discover that the Family Magics accepted you as Lord and Master as a First Year.  I daresay that there will be no shortage of offers, no matter the trials the House of Black might of through in the coming years.”_

Even still, Heather was of the personal opinion that everyone needed a little pomp and circumstance to put some pep back into their step sometimes and it bothered her that such services seemed limited solely to the wealthy.

Of course, given what she’d just learned, the dearth of luxury services that catered to the working class was a bit more understandable. 

Making new spells, potions, and other magical discoveries took time, money, and a great deal of research.  Not to mention a wealth of information from which to conduct said research!  Let alone having the proper setup, so that people would feel comfortable using the services being offered, which was probably where those who had tried to set up a beauty shop had failed, as Heather couldn’t be the first witch to consider such a business!

There were Family biases helping keep the general market pitched in their favor, no doubt.  Not that Heather blamed them, really.  In a world capable of such amazing things and filled with people who regularly made it to at least their centennial birthday, change was already slow to come. 

But one of the most damaging ideas ever introduced into polite society was that the working class- or those below the poverty line- were lazy.  Or that they weren’t entitled to the occasional indulgence, simply because they struggled financially and might require some form of assistance.

Heather _knew_ it to be a dirty, filthy lie and yet sometimes even she had less than charitable thoughts when reading through old duty statements! 

The Isles- both sides- had more of a ‘communal good’ or ‘community first’ mindset than she had been used to from her memories of Before, but the snobbish undercurrent of ‘wasting my tax dollars’, snide remarks about the less-financially-fortunate having a few nice things, and condescending mutters about ‘they don’t look needy’ were somewhat familiar.

Still annoying and aggravating, but familiar nonetheless.

But she was getting off-topic!

“Hmmm.”  Heather murmured as she allowed the idea to percolate a bit more as she stared sightlessly at the stone ceiling.  Abruptly she straightened up in her chair and began scribbling in her notebook.  “I think I want to open more than just one place, but maybe not all at the same time?  Like one in Whimsic and one in Diagon or Horizont.  Maybe Vertick instead?  It’s not really a place for commerce, really, but maybe that could be part of the appeal?”

“Uhh, Heather?  What are you talking about?”  Sophie asked, causing Heather to laugh and turn to face the other two.  “You lost me.  You stared off into space for like five minutes and then just started babbling?”

“Sorry, sorry.”  Heather laughed at Sophie’s entirely bamboozled expression.  “I was thinking about loud.  I want to open a few shops that caters to women.  Where they can get their hair or nails done.  Maybe even something like a day spa- though a destination spa would be sort of neat too, those usually are around natural springs, though- where people could get pampered a bit, let their hair down a while, you know?”

“I get it.”  Sophie chipped in cheerfully.  “It sounds like a nice idea, really!”

“It sounds a little too good to be true.”  Sally-Anne contributed somewhat hesitantly.  “I mean, it sounds amazing, but you’d have to make up your own spells and _everything_ , so I don’t think it could happen?  I mean, I know you’ve got a lot of Family information and stuff, but it still sounds a little too good to be true?  If it was something we could come up with at eleven, I don’t see how someone else hasn’t already done it?”

“Never say never, dear.”  Heather refuted gently.  “And sometimes, for a variety of reasons, an idea just doesn’t take off.  Mine might not either- and there’s a lot of work between ‘having an idea’ and ‘opening a business’.  But, well- nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that.”

Sally-Anne shrugged a bit uncomfortably.  “If you say so, Heather.”

**\--XXX---**

“Heather, this is Anastasia Clearwater.”  Percy introduced rather nervously, fiddling with his glasses a bit as he spoke.  “She’s Penny’s- I mean, Prefect Penelope Clearwater’s- cousin.  When you told me of your new project, she immediately came to mind.  I’ve found her to be quite trustworthy and honest about her ambitions.“

Heather rested her chin on her upraised fist, ignoring the scattered papers and books on her Library table as she took in the newcomer’s appearance.

Slytherin colors, pleasant expression, tawny eyes, and curly light brown hair that fell over her shoulders in loose waves- the newcomer seemed agreeable enough. 

But-

There was something in her body language that screamed ‘caged bird’ to Heather’s instincts.  The sensation was more than just a gut feeling, actually.  Heather could nearly reach out and touch the sensation of ‘imprisoned’ in the girl’s magic, strange as that sounded!  The Black Family Magic within Heather rebelled a little, recoiling like an offended feline at the unpleasant undertone.

Whoever this girl was, she needed help.

Heather wasn’t a saint, nor was she a crusader.  But she was a human being equipped with compassion and empathy and right now the girl in front of her screamed a desperate need for both.

“Hi, I’m Heather Potter!  It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance!”  Heather replied with a welcoming smile, sliding to her feet and reaching out a hand to the other girl.  “Well, Heather Potter-Black now, but just Heather is fine.”

“Anastasia Clearwater, and the pleasure is all mine I assure you.”  The girl responded softly; she tentatively squeezed Heather’s hand before withdrawing the appendage like a frightened little mouse in the den of a lion.  “Um.  Percy said something about working with hair?  Because I do all my- I mean, I really like playing with hair.”

Heather ignored the slip of the tongue and smiled warmly at Percy, who was still lingering nervously nearby.  “I think we’ve got plenty to talk about, thank you for the introductions Percy.”

“Of course.”  Percy responded promptly, straightening a bit in pride.  “If you need anything else just let me know.”

“I will.”  Heather assured Percy as he took his leave and the girls took opposite seats, so that they were across from one another.  “Now then, let me give you the general gist of what I’m considering.  Mind you, my brother is actually the one with all the talent for this sort of thing- and I’ve gotten a bunch of suggestions from him already- but I’m pretty handy at the planning and logistics part, so that’s what I’m doing now…..”

**\--XXX---**

Anastasia’s fingers shook a little as she curled in on herself against the wall of an abandoned classroom in the Slytherin section of the dungeons.

There was no way that this was happening. 

Not to her.  Not to _them_.

Trancending was actually pretty useless for small details- like saving a single person’s life- as the practitioner simply saw too much.  Anastasia’s connection to the leylines, as all of the practitioners before her, went too deep to restrict herself to a single timestream- or even just a small handful of similar timestreams.   The truth of the matter was that it was mostly used as a way for House Nott to make smart investments in things that seemed like crackpot ideas in their early stages.

So being brought in as part of the founding circle of what would grow to be a highly successful business empire had utterly taken her by surprise.

There was _so much_ hanging on this simple interaction.  There was so much good Anastasia could of for all of her siblings- especially Theo- by being involved in this enterprise.

There was also the small matter of Anastasia having wanted to help make women like her Mum feel beautiful and powerful.

That wasn’t to say that they needed makeup and perfectly coiffed hair to be beautiful _or_ powerful!  But there was something about an infusion of care and some relaxation that made a person feel better- even in their magic!  Anastasia might have grown up in a household ruled by a cruel tyrant, but Mum and the others had done their best to make the place home.  And to teach the kids that bitterness and anger were okay to feel sometimes, but not to dwell on.

_“No nightmare lasts forever.”  Mama Jo would say while she twisted Anastasia’s hair into little curls and pinned them with little charms.  “Not if the dreamer fights.”_

_“The dreams of the dreamer/Are life-drops that pass/The break in the heart/To the soul’s hour-glass.”  Mum quoted gently as she wiped the tear tracks from Anastasia’s face with a warm cloth.  “The songs of the singer/Are tones that repeat/The cry of the heart/‘Till it ceases to beat.*”_

Anastasia sucked in deep breath as she tried to steady herself, unbalanced as her potential euphoria battled bitterly with her very real terror of Cantankerous Nott.

 _‘One step at a time, Ana.’_   She told herself firmly as she took a few more gulps of air and dashed the tears from her eyes.  ‘ _Don’t get ahead of yourself, girl!’_

Because Anastasia hadn’t heard anything from Harry yet, and there was still _so much_ that could go _horribly, tragically_ _wrong_ , but-

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast/Man never is, but always to be blessed.”  The words fell from her lips with ease and she could almost hear Mum singing them- badly- as a lullaby in an echo that seemed so loud, yet a whole world away.  “The soul, uneasy and confined from home/Rests and expatiates in a life to come.*”

There were no instruments, no maudlin note that stretched out into the silence of the stone room to underscore the longing in her heart.  But there was a fire inside her breast that spread like ivy through her veins as a future untainted by fear and oppression lingered just beyond the boundaries of everything she’d ever known.

Anastasia wasn’t brave enough to cross that boundary, but she was selfish enough to want the freedom on the other side of it.

An interesting conundrum, if not exasperating.  What was better, Anastasia wondered to herself as she tried to pull herself together, to be born brave or to learn bravery- even if it was a bravery born of selfish desires?

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--XXX---
> 
> * The Dreams of the Dreamer by Georgia Douglas Johnson
> 
> * Hope Springs Eternal by Alexander Pope, An Essay On Man


	19. Unexpected

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**\--XXX---**

“Well.  That explains a lot.”  Heather muttered as she read over the weeks’ worth of compiled information.

Apparently there were two major sponsors of beauty products- the House of Malfoy and the House of Parkinson.  Unlike what she had first assumed- and she’d wondered how in the sam hell they managed to identify ‘copycat’ spells in the first place- the spells and Potion formulas weren’t registered individually. 

Rather, the Arithmanic Renderings were registered and copyrighted.

Arithmancy was actually far more involved in daily life than Heather had realized.  It sort of reminded her more of biology and chemistry than pure mathematics, really.  Spells and potions could all be broken down into their base components by an Arithmancer, and in the case of a ;’stolen’ or copycat claim, the accused party had to produce a Notarized Arithmanic Rendering to prove that their spell was substantially different from the ‘original’.

As the umbrella of ‘Arithmancy’ required extensive study of Magical Vernaculars, Spell Theory, Practical Potions (which was Potions, but with magical mathematics and fun little magical plants and fires equations), and at least an A-Level’s certifications’ worth of Enchantment Calculation, (magical mathematics- which were just as complicated and somewhat mind-boggling as anything else involving magic), getting ahold of one of those shiny Notarized Renderings was rather cost prohibitive and time intensive.  Meaning that accusation cases could last years or even decades and most cases were usually resolved by a House with the sort of money to acquire the necessary paperwork and such ‘buying out’ the case from the individuals or smaller Family.  Or the accused and the objecting Family coming to a closed-doors agreement.

Heather’s eyes went a little swirly as she read through a few examples someone had provided.  She was a little heartened to note, a little further down in the document, that Wards were actually more based on Runes, Astronomy, History of Magical Civilizations and inherent magical awareness than Arithmancy and its similar branches. 

Otherwise her dreams of learning to make Wards were in dire jeopardy.

At any rate, House Malfoy and House Parkinson were the giants in this particular arena, even if there were a fair few outliers.  Mostly individuals whose spells had been picked up by independent production companies.

_‘This crap reminds me of how those companies from Before patented GMO seeds and forced the nearby, smaller farms to buy new seeds every year because the crops invariably cross-pollinated.’_   Heather thought somewhat wryly.  _‘It wasn’t the fault of the people who made the newer seeds, but the greedy jerks who patented them and forcing everyone around them to suffer or sellout.’_

There _was_ a sneaky side-step option of using different languages for a desired spell, as that changed the Arithmanic Base.  Given what Mr. Leif had taught them over the summer, that made a whole lot of sense to Heather.  Case in point, almost all the copyrights currently held were for spells exclusively in dialects of Latin or a dialect of one of the Insular Celtic languages.  The latter set was far less prominent, as those sorts of spells or potion recipes had to be configured from the perspective of someone who understood the language in the same manner as a native speaker.

Well, the wanna-be Spellcrafter had to _think_ of the languages from the same point of view as it was spoken, which took serious dedication and insight into how the language operated.  Learning a new language was nearly stupidly easy with magic, but a firm grasp on all the nuances and native train-of-thought was another matter entirely.

It was not enough to merely be technically precise in a language.  One had to be entirely immersed in the culture and history of the specific dialect to be able to use it for Spellcrafting.  Doubly so for their writing systems, as few of the Tongues of Power had a nice, straightforward approach to orthography.

Hence why Spellcrafters had such a high mortality rate, as trifling mistakes could make all the difference in how a spell performed when tested practically.

Heather idly wondered how that whole system affected practical Spellcrafters like the Weasley twins. 

Fortunately the next section explained the hows and whys of using a public purview spell or potion as the base for a new spell was entirely acceptable, provided the creators could prove how the new or altered version came to be.  Those challenges went to a lesser office in the DMLE than ‘copycat’ Family spells, and tended to be resolved fairly quickly, unlike spells or potions which crossed the line into ‘Family property’ territory.

Still seemed a bit murky and subjective to Heather, but at least she now held a better understanding of how the whole process worked.

_Somewhat_.

Eh, at least she had people around her whose jobs were to figure out the details of such things?

“Percy, are you _sure_ I gave you enough to pay for everyone’s time for this?”  She prodded her in-all-but-name Hogwarts assistant.

Percy, sitting across from Heather at her favorite table in the Library, nodded positively without looking up from his homework.  “You gave me more than enough.  Anastasia was quite pleasantly surprised and everyone I approached for this project volunteered to partake in future rounds of research for you.”  Percy glanced up, his expression bright.  “It was actually quite a bit of fun.  Even Madam Pince helped us!”

“If you’re sure.”  Heather conceded, smiling a bit at Percy’s reddened ears and excited-but-shy expression.  ‘ _He’s so cute.’_   “I will most likely have more requests in the future, but please let me know if-“

“You overload us or pile it on too thick.”  Percy finished with a teasing grin.  “So you’ve mentioned.  Repeatedly.”

Heather maturely stuck her tongue out at him, causing the Prefect to quietly snort with laughter and return to his work.

Satisfied that she had paid her research team well enough, Heather began making notes of her own _.  ‘First of all, I’m- we’re- going to need to pick and study a rarely-used language and the associated script structures.  That’s going to take quite a while.  I’d rather like to send a few Hogwarts graduates to nonmagical beauty school, to give them some perspective and experience.  Bring new ideas and methods to the table.  Wait a second- are there magical beauty schools at all?  I should probably write Mr. Reginald and have him draw up a contract for that sort of thing.  And research how- well, that would be Liv or Aunt Cassie.  Wait!  How am I going to--‘_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

_‘Well, this is not how I thought this day was going to go.’_

Heather stood ram-rod straight half a step behind Sophie in the opulent- rather Edwardian and a fair bit more ‘modern’ than Heather had been expecting- meeting room inside the Wizarding Examinations Authority office building two streets over and a street down from the Black office.

She’d thought that the Yaxley situation would be the last major incident until the hols, but she stood corrected.

This situation had interrupted her new favorite activity of hanging out with Neville in the greenhouses!

It was soothing and relaxing to write, read, or even just rest and almost-nap while Neville puttered around, cooing at the plants and fussing with different soils and fertilizers.  Thankfully magic meant that the unpleasant smells were at a minimum, and the greenhouses sort of exuded an air of cheer and solace.  And on the rare occasion Neville asked a question, Heather was more than happy to talk to him, but he mostly just seemed to want company.

The little trips helped revitalize her and she had noticed how much her temperament had improved since they’d become part of her routine.

Looking back, she was a tiny bit embarrassed at her over zealousness, but she tried to not dwell on it too much.  She had certainly grown a new appreciation for delegation and asking for help, though.  It helped that she had plenty of galleons to compensate people for their time, which was a major sticking point for her.

_“We have a rather preposterous amount of galleons, Granddaughter, but just one of you.”_

But, back to the situation at hand.

Sophie had been called before the Board of Governors.  To have her ‘magical capacity’ assessed by an ‘unbiased Healer’ as they had been given ‘substantiated reports’ that claimed Sophie’s potential unstable core issues presented made her a ‘hazard’ to her fellow students.

Oh, Heather was _furious_.

It was currently the last week of November and it had only been the fact that the original official summons had contained the wrong name that had pushed it back thus far.

It had originally been scheduled the week after the twins and Sophie had returned to Hogwarts from the Yaxley incident.

The Board room was rather long, though not very wide.  There were twelve ornate chairs that were in a split-level gallery, each displaying a neatly calligraphic name and a borough number- which was how the Board members were elected, by borough.

Heather memorized them all.  She vowed to remember this injustice!

The Headmaster had escorted the girls from Hogwarts- smiling proudly at the two girls when Heather had demanded to accompany her Ward- but had been made to wait outside.  Mr. Reginald was there, too, having been summoned by- the very, very angry- Heather once the Lady Black had been informed of this deplorable machination.

Somehow, she got the feeling the Headmaster was just as angry as she was about this travesty, only he had to maintain the appearance of compliance.

Headmaster Dumbledore had certainly not done anything to impede Heather’s efforts to inform her Family and Counsel about the situation!  In fact, the Headmaster had mysteriously ‘forgotten’ where the room in question was located, and was forced to wander over to the receptionist’s desk to inquire about a map- which he then took his sweet time examining- so as to give Mr. Reginald and Grandfather time to impart some much-needed advice to the two girls.

_‘I owe that man the warmest socks I can find for Christmas!’_

According to the Grandfather and Mr. Reginald’s whisperings to her and Sophie, this particular room was rarely used.  In fact, the last time it had been used was when the Board had been voting on a new educational referendum, _nearly thirty years ago_.  Meetings and discussions were usually held in Board Meeting Room, just down the hallway. 

A much less intimidating location, the Headmaster had seemingly muttered to himself when he’d finally returned to escort them to this farce of an expulsion hearing.

Mr. Reginald had unhappily stated that the Board had chosen their date well, as Aunt Andy was currently in surgery and would be until the late afternoon, meaning that they couldn’t call upon her to stand witness and Aunt Cassie was out of touch, as she was touring the properties in the Pacific at the moment.

_“Note all their names and try and focus intently so we can use your memory of this travesty to the fullest, Granddaughter.”  Grandfather told her urgently, as the Headmaster meandered into view.  “The only power they have is in the assessment and possible expulsion.  Refuse to give them a hag’s whisker more than that.”  Grandfather turned to Sophie.  “Regardless of the outcome, you are a Ward of House Black.  These fools cannot take that away from you.  Do not disappoint my Granddaughter’s faith in you, girl.”_

Heather had appreciated the tidbit of information about the room, though she wasn’t particularly thrilled about Grandfather’s rather lacking pep talk to poor Sophie.  They’d been summoned for this thing at six-thirty in the morning!  Professor McGonagall had awoken them and informed them that they had a half-hour to dress and make themselves presentable!  Still, knowing the fact the Board was using this pointedly intimidating room _on purpose_ was yet another thing Heather vowed to address in her vengeance.

_‘Does it make you feel like men to intimidate a couple of eleven-year-old girls?’_

Lucius Malfoy, as the Director or whatever they called the leader of the Board- Chairman?- was the one doing most of the direct questioning Sophie- condescendingly and with enough patronization in his tone of voice that made Heather want to _gag_ \- while Heather did her best to turn him into a pile of ash with her ferocious glare.

Some of the questions were positively demeaning! 

Heather had interjected to the invasive and insensitive lines of questioning several times- mostly from the so-called Healer and Malfoy, but there were a few others who seemed to be gleefully invested in tearing down a magically disadvantaged eleven year old girl for fun- claiming ‘internal Family matters’ just like Mr. Reginald and Grandfather had instructed.  Heather was also giving out- completely free of charge- stone-cold glares and the closest to a condescending sneer she’d ever felt being on her face.  She could tell she was frustrating the Malfoy-the-condescending-arsewipe with her stubborn refusal to give an inch, but the only way for him to overrule her word was to question her Family business.

Which was a major faux-paus and huge political misstep for a Pureblood Conservative to make.

And given the askance looks he was getting from a few of the others as the meeting dragged on close to a full hour after the Healer’s assessment as he tried to argue with Heather’s unyielding declaration that Sophie’s medical arrangements were an ‘internal Family matter’- and therefore not knowledge the Board should be privy to regardless of Sophie’s now-certified and documented core troubles- Lucius was treading on thin ice.

At long last the matter was put to a vote and Sophie was officially expelled.

They confiscated her wand as well.

Lucius Malfoy came down and _personally confiscated Sophie’s wand in front of all of the Board members_ right after telling the girl she _wasn’t a proper witch_ and therefore _unworthy of the Ministry paying for her education._

Heather was so angry she felt like she could spit nails and spew lava.

“Now, we must discuss Miss Roper’s- excuse me, Miss Arandar’s-  financial responsibilities in light of-“  Lucius Malfoy began, only for Heather to cut him off, voice edged with fire so intense it was cold.

Heather took the shaking, quietly crying Sophie’s arm and glared daggers and hellfire at the room’s occupants.  “I demand to see my Counsel _right now_.  We’ve already established that Sophie Arandar is a Ward of House Black, therefore we shall see to her education, as is our pleasure.  Any financial matters must be put into writing and approved by my Counsel.”  _‘Thank you for that tidbit on our way in Mr. Reginald!’_  “Unless you wish for this body to be accused of attempted blackmail of a Noble House?  Protocols must be observed, you understand.”

“Miss Potter-“  One of the Board members started to say, patronizingly.

“Heiress Black.”  One of the smarter members corrected the first, with a warning glare.

Heather’s temper had never been this close to shattering before, but she couldn’t afford to lose her composure. 

She simply _couldn’t_. 

It would hurt everything she wanted to try and protect if she was labeled an ‘unstable madwoman’.  And with the likes Bellatrix in the Family, a fairly solid case could be made against her by a skilled weaver of lies and half-truths.

Public opinion was rather easy to manipulate in the wizarding world and she was just now starting to enjoy some measure of positive popularity, once the _facts_ about the Yaxley Incident had had enough time to circulate and the outright false rumormongering had died down a bit.

As a mental note to herself, she needed to acquire all the Black ladies thoughtful gifts.  They had done quite a bit of socializing and word acrobatics to get her into a much more favorable position in the aftermath of the Incident.

That being reasoned, at least half of these Board members needed to _go_.

_‘Oooooh-‘_

If there was ever the very definition of ‘mansplaining’ in a physical, real-world interaction, it would be this one!

“Heiress Potter-Black, if you will.”  There were teeth in the next smile.  “It is my _right_ , as an Heir-“  _‘Well, Lady, but they didn’t need to know that and she had no mandate to inform them.  Family business.’_   “-to speak to my Counsel concerning _Family matters_.  The Board has voted and I will abide their decision, so there is nothing left for _you_ and I to discuss.” 

“Heiress the financial matters are of utmost importance-“  A different one tried again.

“ _Now_.”  Heather demanded, pulling at the Black Family Magic.  Just enough to up the tense atmosphere of the room in her favor but not enough to be seen as actively hostile.

“Of course, Heiress Potter-Black.”  One of the smarted Board members agreed, shooting a frosty glare at the former speaker and waving their wand at the sealed doors.

The magic sealing the wide double doors behind her was released, allowing the doors to swing open. Heather marched out of the meeting room, head held high and so incandescently angry she couldn’t see straight.

“ _I will not allow this….. this_ travesty _to go unremarked_.”  She raged the moment they reappeared at the Black office, whirling around to pull Sophie into a fierce hug.  “I will _not_.”

“Very well.”  Grandfather agreed blandly, adjusting his cufflinks casually.  “So what are you going to do about it?

Heather smirked- sword sharp and edged with blood- as she stepped back from Sophie and met his gaze.  “Why, I’m going to beat them at their own game, of course.”

Grandfather laughed himself hoarse.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Minerva stood behind the one-way portrait of Gwenog the Great, watching her Gryffindors.  The portrait was Head-of-House or Headmaster only use, and it had provided her quite a bit of insight into her students and their struggles over the years.

Tonight she was waiting for Heather and Harry to return.

Minus young Miss Arandar.

Oooh, Minerva was so infuriated by _that_ situation she couldn’t see straight!

The twins had been due back this morning, at breakfast, but had only just returned a few hours ago.  Albus didn’t seem overly concerned with their tardiness and had discreetly sent her a message asking her to silently observe the twins’ return to the common room for him.

Well, Minerva _could_ shift into a cat.

She was fairly certain Albus had already known she would be curious enough to observe her students this evening and merely had decided to poke fun at her about it.  As if she wouldn’t go and discuss how this situation had impacted her House with her mentor and dear friend!

Feeling the trip ward ping- she’d been James’ godmother, so technically the ward was cheating a bit as it was keyed to a Potter tripping it- Minerva turned her attention to the entryway just as the twins and Percy Weasley emerged from the entrance tunnel.

Harry, his shoulders thrown back in an eerily reminiscent manner as his father or grandfather, marched straight on in and agilely used a chair to stand on one of the tables near the middle of the common room.  His feet stayed well away from the homework and ink wells, but he was quite clearly about to begin addressing the room at large.  Heather followed him, but kept her feet planted on the ground.

Naturally the common room had broken out into rather loud, chaotic shouts and murmurs as soon as the twins appeared, but the Weasley twins quickly corralled the more rowdy carousers and just about everyone in the room turned to Harry, curiously expectant.

“As most of you know, Sophie was expelled.”  Harry bluntly stated, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring across the room, the Weasley twins slinking around the table to stand on either side of Percy and glaring ominously at those who dared to interrupt.  Ron, too, scrambled over to stand by his friend and brothers.  “While we were somewhat expecting her to leave Hogwarts- using a wand hurts her magic, but that doesn’t make her any less of a witch- the Board of Governors’ actions were rather unprecedented and needlessly cruel.”  Harry cracked a grin and jerked a thumb in Heather’s direction.  “Anyone guess who made that intro?  And your first two guesses don’t count!’

A ripple of laughter ran through the room, as well as a few playful catcalls being launched in Heather’s direction.

Minerva had to smother a laugh when Oliver Wood proclaimed he’d help so long as Heather helped him write an opening that dramatic and memorable in his letter to Quidditch scouts.

“At any rate-“  Harry continued in a more relaxed manner, his body posture slumping a bit.  “- the end result is that Sophie will no longer be among us.  The Board made their decision, and we have to live with the consequences.”  Harry’s grin turned sharper around the edges and Lily Evans’ quicksilver temper made an appearance.  “But we’re gonna win this war.”  Harry shifted and planted a hand on his hip while he used his other one to make emphatic gestures.  “With all of you guys’ help, of course!”

Harry’s grin turned sly.

Minerva’s kitty cat danger senses were tingling.

“You see, ‘feather’s done some digging and we think we might have a plan to prevent the Board- or anyone- playing petty political games and using us students as their pawns.”  Harry accepted a bundle from Heather and waved it around.  “But we need information.  Statistics.  Rumors of others who disappeared off into the mists.”

“Don’t get us wrong.”  Heather interjected quietly into the suddenly grave-silent room.  “We _respect_ that Family business is private.  But-“ Heather paused and seemed to order her thoughts for a moment before she continued.  “-it isn’t right.  Yeah, so these students might not be able to use traditional magic- but that doesn’t mean they can’t be productive members of society.  That they don’t deserve education and decent jobs and being able to live among their fellow magicals.  Infrastructure and support roles- though they certainly shouldn’t limited to _just_ that sort of work- are important and necessary.”

The Deputy Headmistress emphatically agreed. 

While the Greater House system had some truly marvelous benefits- and really, with magic was somewhat needed- it was long past due for the status quo to be challenged.  Hopefully the shakeup would allow for ‘norms’ to be put to the test and open the eyes of everyone as to the plethora of opportunities available.

The absence of war does not mean there is peace, after all and the pro-Riddle or just plain power-hungry Families- not to mention Grindelwald holdouts or the various violent, savage cults that had been a rather annoyingly persistent problem for magical law enforcement since the dawn of time- had been using sleazy cloak-and-dagger tactics that allowed them to skirt the laws and their Oaths for _decades_.

Almost all of the easily accessible Greater House books that outlined the responsibilities and guidelines of _both_ parties tended to constantly be ‘checked out’ or ‘in use’ despite Irma’s best efforts.  And as the Hogwarts Archivist there were Oaths that precluded Irma from ‘picking sides’ or ‘advancing a certain ideology, religion, or political agenda’.

The easiest way to control the people is to control the information they can get their hands on and Voldemort’s concentrated attack on the press had ended with a single reputable newspaper and the Wizarding Wireless, both of which were fairly easily bribed or intimidated nowadays.  An unfortunate side effect of Voldemort’s reign of terror coupled with the long memories of those who tended to live twice the span of time as the average nonmagical.

 “I can see that some of you _really_ don’t agree, and that’s fine.”  Harry butted in cheerfully, drawing Minerva’s attention back to the present.  “Everyone is entitled to their own opinions.  But we’re Gryffindors!  Sophie’s _one of us_ and the Board thought that they could use her to hurt me and ‘feather.  And they were right.  Sophie getting kicked out did upset us.  Greatly.”  Harry’s tone took a more defiant lilt.  “But if they wanna play with fire, _so be it_.  Remember what our House stands for?”

“ _You might belong in Gryffindor/Where dwelt the brave of heart/Their daring, nerve, and chivalry/Set the Gryffindors apart._ ”  Heather quoted firmly, as if to remind the gathered Gryffindor’s of the Sorting Hat’s words at the Welcoming Feast.

It was a very nice touch, Minerva thought.

Oh, James would be _so proud_ of his children!

“You wanna know what would be brave, daring, and a ‘gallant deed’?”  Harry asked the room impishly. “Changing the rules to this unfair little game the Board’s playing, so they can’t _ever_ step in and _shit_ all over an eleven-year-old girl to make their grown-ass selves feel powerful and in control.”  Harry nodded to Percy in thanks when the Prefect restored order after the commotion that statement caused, but continued unrepentantly.  “You don’t wanna be a part of this project?  Fine by me.  You don’t like my language?  Well, isn’t that shiny?  But for all of you who want to see justice done for Sophie, meet us over by the story sofa because my brilliant sister has a _plan_.”

As she listened in, Minerva found herself impressed and a little taken aback at how ruthlessly pragmatic Heather could be.

‘ _Then again_.’  Minerva thoughts as she made her way towards Albus’ office a bit later.  _‘Lily was that way, too.  And so was Uncle Charlus- I can’t count the number of times we made it out of a sticky situation alive and intact because of his hedged bets back when I was an Auror.  James was a bit more reckless as a youth, but I can definitely see the best of all of them in those children.’_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――


	20. Assumption

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

"I apologize for my initial assumptions." Heather replied slowly, blinking rapidly against the sting of tired-stressed tears and calling upon what little emotional energy she could spare as her mind tried to process what had just happened. "Could you elaborate for me?"

Lavender chewed at her bottom lip nervously and twisted the edges of her robes in distress. "I can try! Um-"

Heather listened and tried to make sense of the situation. Well, as best as she could the evening after Sophie's expulsion.

In her now solo dorm room.

The House Elves certainly hadn't wasted any time whisking away the second bed and the castle had somehow shifted to account for a single student instead of two.

To Heather, the room was smaller. Colder.

Condemnatory and uncomfortable.

All the art and posters that Heather and Sophie had hung on the walls- along with the collages from Girls Night, which were mostly pictures pinned to bright slats of poster board- were neatly piled at the end of Heather's bed, atop her trunk. She hadn't had the emotional fortitude to force herself to sort through the organized chaos just yet, but it was there.

Patiently accusing.

And now, when all she wanted to do was crawl under her brother's covers and  _hide_  after a trying day of furious whisperings, sly scowls, and enduring the not-so-quiet cruel laughter of  _how far the House of Black had fallen_ \- "They have a Squib as a Ward _. A Squib_!"- mixed in with moments of dizzyingly whirlwind bouts of productivity and planning, there was  _this_   _situation_.

' _I could really use some serenity and patience, if it's not too much to ask.'_

"Ok, so I think that there's two- no wait, three?-" ' _Mother. Fucker_.' "-issues in this general  _train wreck_." Heather sighed, rubbing at her forehead tiredly and screwing her eyes shut against the insistent sting of unwanted tears. "First and foremost we have a fundamental misunderstanding. In the- on the nonmagical side of things being expelled is embarrassing and deeply upsetting, but not nearly as much as an all-encompassing, devastating event as being Expelled from Hogwarts."

"Really?" Lavender gasped in surprise, her hands flying to her mouth in a rather dramatic gesture of alarm.

'… _..double the patience, quadruple the serenity, and add a shot of longsuffering, will ya?'_

"Yes." Heather managed to say without letting an overly overt amount of exasperation leak spill over into her tone. "Being Expelled from a magical school is quite different and even  _I_  didn't understand the full implications until yesterday."

Which was a very true statement.

Thanks to the Statute's blanket demands for proper instruction, good old paranoia, and a spider web of contradictions, arrogance, and a rather steep history of magical nations disliking outsiders on general principle being Expelled was a-

-gigantic fucking headache for Heather, really.

Relative to Sophie's case- and the root of issue  _numero uno_ \- was that Sophie, had she not been Heather's Ward, would have been well and truly screwed the instant the verdict had been magically recognized.

Firstly, the girl couldn't have gone back to her former accommodations as her magical Citizenship- and that was a capital 'C'- took precedence over her nonmagical one.

Meaning, the Statute's mandate for 'eighteen months of proper magical instruction' superseded the nonmagical government's compulsory education mandate. As Sophie had no magical relatives- for at least for two generations, which was what the law stated as a 'reasonable statute of limitations'- it fell to the Ministry of Magic, specifically the Hogwart's Board of Governors, to provide the remaining obligatory schooling, which they subcontracted out to Hogwarts.

Which was how the Board of Governors came to be and why they had any say at all in the matter of Sophie's wand troubles.

Naturally, Heather's first question had been,  _"Well why didn't being a Ward of House Black protect her! That's sort of the whole point, right?!"_

Turns out, it was a bit more complicated.

Tradition, magic, and the wonderfully complex- and usually counterproductive- nature of magical laws.

" _In order of precedence, an Expelled student without a reputable Family willing to still claim them is ranked somewhere between Class IX magical plants and Centaurs." Grandfather explained mildly in the wake of Heather's rather explosive rant. "Statue law is all that saves them from Azkaban, and even then not by much."_

" _That's like saying they send_ plants _to Azkaban, Grandfather, and that doesn't even-" Heather fumed, squinting crossly at Grandfather through puffy, tear reddened eyes. Her glasses had been taken off shortly after they had arrived._

" _Oh no, not Azkaban for them. They are considered far too lowly to waste resources on imprisoning them, Granddaughter. Class IX plants convicted of a crime are sentenced to burning by Fiendfyre. Rogue centaurs are either hunted by their own kind or executed by the Ministry." Grandfather replied rather unconcernedly. "The Executioners for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures handles such cases."_

True facts, but quite unsettling.

Then again actual full-on Expulsions were extremely rare, making poor Sophie's case even more maddening.

Sophie received her Letter and entered Hogwarts prior to her inclusion to Heather's Family as a Ward at the Ministry Sophie was listed, in the Hall of Registers, as a Ward of the Headmaster, with a pending custody filing by the House of Black.

The grey-area intricacies of which were how the Headmaster had managed to keep the Board stonewalled for so long, honestly.

" _According to the paper trail, Headmaster Dumbledore denied the Board on the grounds of technicality no less than six times since the Yaxley Incident." Mr. Reginald informed her the morning after Sophie's Expulsion, when they met at the Black offices to hammer out the finer details of how to accomplish Heather's burning need for revenge. "Had the Board not been so doggedly persistent- I deeply suspect a fair amount of galleons were spent on this nasty bit of business- Sophie likely would have made it until the winter break without incident."_

" _When her full custody will be formally recognized in the Ministry's eyes." Nigel took up for his grandfather, allowing the older man a moment to nibble at his breakfast. Those who had come from Blackmoor Hall- Heather, Harry, Grandfather, Aunt Cassie, Sirius, and Remus- having eaten before they arrived, but the two retainers had spent the night at the office, scouring for information to help formulate a proper strategy. "Sophie is, indisputably, a Ward of House Black-" He rushed to assure the stormy looking Heather. "-but the Ministry only updates their official records twice a year: the second full week of January and the last full week of August. Which was how the Board managed to pull off this farce at all."_

" _Thanks to a complicated system dealing with paterfamilias and the Contest of Protection processes." Mr. Reginald smoothly interjected after hastily swallowing his quick wash of tea. "Very little of the most common reasons for the biannual updating of the Records applies to this case, but that is mostly thanks to the fact that Sophie's status- well, there's no one with legitimate standing in a magical court of law that can contest her Wardship. The Ministry lost any hold on her they might have had the moment they voted to Expel her, as the Headmaster supported our claim over the Board's assertion and Sophie, of her own free will, had signed herself over to us. The Headmaster of Hogwarts' opinion has far more weight to it than the Boards, in matters such as this. It's….a barely legal area, where magic itself- usually via magically binding contracts- is viewed as the most critical deciding factor."_

" _While the Headmaster is the de facto guardian in loco parentis to anyone without a properly recognized guardian- in a court of magical law, at least- any child over the age of eleven- so a Hogwarts student- has the right to willingly sign over their custody to someone, or someones, else." Nigel added directly on the heels of his grandfather's explanation. "Which was why it was so important that Sophie didn't sign anything and why your presence, little Lady Heather, was instrumental in protecting Sophie from the Board using her age and upset emotional state to try and strong-arm her into a bad deal."_

" _The signing rights at eleven are an old practice meant to safeguard the vulnerable from greedy or neglectful Headmasters." Aunt Cassie slipped in with an imperious tone. "In recent years the practice has been abused, but there have been far more children aided by the system than harmed."_

" _The two of you are different because you are Heirs- well, Heir and a Lady. And your Records are updated differently than us common folk." Nigel winked playfully at Heather, who exhaled an amused noise that wasn't quite a laugh. "But Sophie, unfortunately, was targeted by people who knew the technicalities and grey areas in the laws and ruthlessly played them to their advantage, despite Headmaster Dumbledore's best efforts to drag things out until the end of term."_

" _And his crafty tweaking of the grey areas amongst Hogwarts, the Board, and the Ministry." Mt. Reginald added thoughtfully. "The Headmaster could have, legally, refused to allow you to accompany her. But he did not, and in fact he had all the paperwork ready and waiting to transfer guardianship from himself- well, Hogwarts- to the House of Black."_

" _The Board was outmaneuvered before they even had a chance to celebrate their victory." Nigel summarized cheerfully. "And Headmaster Dumbledore politely reminded them that he's not to be trifled with at the same time they were trying to make a power play!"_

Eleven-year-olds having such a massive say in their guardianship were one of those things that 'everybody knew' and was generally 'considered rude to bring up in casual conversation'.

Why couldn't things just be nice, straightforward, and simple for once?! Had  _none_  of these people heard of the KISS method of dealing with matters?

Knowing all that meant that Heather sort of had an epiphany as to how the magical world functioned; in that the magical world was fundamentally different from the nonmagical world. It seemed as if most of the traditions and laws were written in such a way that around the age of ten most children began a transition from 'child' to 'adult-in-training'. They didn't come 'of age' until seventeen, but it seemed as if the trip to Ollivander's was a rite of passage akin to getting a Driver's License or being allowed to seek employment as opposed to a more mundane middle school sendoff.

Rather fitting considering the amount of responsibility and power owning a wand denoted, but slightly jarring to Heather's internalized dispositions of usual age-group norms.

Different, but not unreasonable. And of course wildly varied and muddled, just to keep things fresh and exciting.

' _Life, man. Fucking life.'_

In any event, by the Ministry's Records Sophie was, first and foremost, a Ward of the Headmaster which was how the Board sidestepped a whole laundry list of laws that were meant to protect Hogwarts students being used against Families or Houses.

Especially  _Noble_  Houses.

The House of Black was counted among the Council of Nobles, making them a  _legally recognized_  Noble House. Meaning that even though the House of Black could not- and did not- attempt to directly interfere with the Board's authority; the Board's power over Sophie vanished entirely the moment that they officially Expelled her. Because Headmaster Dumbledore had already handed the neatly filled in paperwork, magically binding that transferred custody of Sophie to the House of Black to Grandfather not ten seconds after the magic that marked Sophie as an active Hogwarts student was forcefully shattered.

Thus, Sophie immediately went from being 'Sophie of Hogwarts', to 'Sophie Arandar, Ward of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black' with no time for the Board to contest the transfer.

Family business, you see.

" _It's why the plebeians- Andromeda informed me of some suspicious happenings when Sophie received her Letter, which I have been investigating- who abuse the protections attempt to do so before a student enters Hogwarts." Mr. Reginald explained patiently. "This situation honestly surprised me, I admit. The Board using their narrow scope of authority to essentially force a student into a vulnerable position is something that hasn't happened in quite a few years. Headmaster Dumbledore made international waves several times in his first decade as Headmaster."_

" _For what?" Heather asked, curious despite herself._

" _Well, the first time a student received a Letter but didn't attend the Sorting, the Headmaster…..well, let's just say that the arguably most powerful wizard in the Isles, who has access to one of the most concentrated nexus of leylines in the world, used his not-inconsiderable power to find his lost lambs." Mr. Reginald drawled with a sharp little grin. "There is good reason as to why the man is feared, despite his reluctance to battle."_

Expulsions were Serious Business, Dumbledore was a badass. Got it.

The whole debacle kind of made Heather want to utter distinctly pterodactyl-like noises, really. The situation reminded her of a perfectly symmetrical picture with just one, tiny section out of place that made the whole thing bizarrely irritating instead of pleasant.

Thankfully Heather's attendance- allowed thanks to a mix of norms, courtesy, the Headmaster being a wonderful man, and magic- had ensured that important legal transition had happened properly. So they had avoided a host of fiddly barely-legal he-said, she-said nonsense. The 'nonsense' in question being everything Heather had been stubbornly stonewalling Malfoy and his buddies about for nearly an hour after the technical, legally binding diagnosis and subsequent Removal vote and the vote to formally Expel Sophie from Hogwarts.

Because  _of course_  there had been two of them! And of-fucking-course Malfoy was petty enough to levy a life-defining grievance to an eleven year old girl with medically documented core troubles to make a political point!

Ironically, if the Board had  _not_  decided to Expel Sophie things would have been a lot more complicated for Heather and the House of Black, as Sophie would have still been considered a Ward of the Headmaster and a legal resident of Hogwarts by the bloody Ministry.

" _In their haste to cause a scandal, your detractors made a costly error." Grandfather pronounced gravely, his steel colored eyes alight with a mix of pride and caution. "Do take note of their foolishness and learn from it, Granddaughter."_

Heather, having been there, had been rather bewildered to find, after the fact, that two separate things had actually occurred. The first vote was to accept the diagnosis- which had immediately disqualified Sophie from returning to Hogwarts and opened them up to dealing with the House of Black as the Headmaster had already signed off on the custody change, Heather found out later- called the Removal Vote. The second vote was whether or not to Expel Sophie in addition to Removing her from Hogwarts, which was sort of like adding insult to injury.

Or, you know, salt to an exposed wound. Gas to the fire. Twist the knife.

" _The Board has the power and legal right to Remove any student who is rightfully determined to be medically unable to continue their education." Mr. Reginald lectured, once Sophie had been taken home by an ashen-faced Tonks and everyone had retired to Heather's office sitting room. Heather being very interested in learning how this could have possibly fucking bloody well happened. "They could technically- though they'd likely not survive the political fallout- Remove you or Harry if you were found medically wanting."_

" _They could try and they would fail." Grandfather affirmed with a crafty grin. "Reginald and I declined to find a Healer to dispute Healer Rookwood's findings because we are aware that the girl is….troubled."_

" _Where our case diverges from the normal route is you, Lady Black- though I imagine they assumed Lord Arcturus might overrule you after the meeting, as I sincerely doubt anyone knows you are a Lady by Right and Magic- publically affirming Sophie's status as your Ward immediately following the Removal vote." Mr. Reginald hurried to add, giving Heather a knowing look. "Technically you could have rescinded her status as a Ward of House Black- yes, I am aware you would never do that, dear- but you did not, and thus they now have to deal with myself and your Grandfather." He paused and gave Heather a knowing look. "And Madam Cassie."_

Aunt Cassie. Not the hero the Isles needed but the cackling, unsympathetic one they deserved.

' _I hope to be half the shade of brilliant that Aunt Cassie is one day!'_

In regards to all the nasty things the Board could possibly pursue against an Expelled student- well. No matter the number of Nobles who were on the Board itself, the Board had no jurisdiction over Noble matters, only the Council of Nobles held that authority. Meaning that any fines or sanctions that the Board wished to levy against Sophie as an Expelled student had to be routed through a sitting session of the Council.

Heather would feel sorry for them, but she just couldn't dredge up the sincerity to do so.

' _Them's the breaks, Bob.'_

However, knowing  _all that_  helped Heather understand  _why_  the normally mild-mannered Sally-Anne had gotten into such an explosive row with Hermione, who had been trying to 'see the silver lining' and mentioned Sophie merely needing to work hard to catch up at whatever school accepted her.

Kindly met, not-so-kindly received.

"So I will do my best to explain it to her tomorrow, if you can calm Sally-Anne a bit." Heather continued tiredly, kneading the skin at her temples to try and stave off the tension headache. "As for the second issue, arranged marriages are pretty unheard of on the nonmagical side, and most of what we learn of them makes them seem utterly atrocious." Heather held up a hand for silence when Lavender tried to protest. "Yes, it happened a lot in the past, but  _a lot_  has changed since the turn of the century for the nonmagicals, ok?" Thankfully Lavender's mouth clicked shut and Heather returned to massaging her temples. "Maybe get Parvati- maybe Padma would be better? She seems a little less impassioned about misunderstandings than Parvati- to explain how important following the traditions of their Family is to them."

"And the third issue?" Lavender prompted hesitantly after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"You all are going to have to come up with some rules for your fights." Heather stated bluntly, cracking her eyes open a slit to glower at the blonde. "I love you all, but you're all opinionated, headstrong women. And that's brilliant, honestly. I don't want to change that about you. But ya'll need to set some ground rules for when someone steps on a hot button issue or this cycle is just going to continue until I go positively  _mental_."

"Sorry, Heather." Lavender demurred unhappily, her fingers twisting into the folds of her robes as she stared down at the floor.

"Hey, it's fine." Heather told her kindly, uncurling from her desk chair enough to reach out and snag Lavender's worrying hands and tapping her chin until the other girl looked up, all shimmery eyed.

' _Anytime now.'_

"Really, I'm not upset at you. I'm a little upset at the situation as a whole because I'm tired and stressed, but not at any one of you. I  _promise_." Heather assured the other girl, who unexpectedly threw herself into Heather and started crying into her robes, babbling about hurtful things said by all sides and  _how sorry_   _she was_  and causing Heather to stile a groan of discomfort when her back met the top bar of the chair's back ungracefully.

' _Faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love. And love is patient and kind; not envious, selfish, or rude, Heather.'_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

It was a bit bemusing to be at the center of a tornado, but not be buffeted about by its winds.

Heather was still extremely busy, of course, and contributing her fair share of work towards  _the plan_ , but with Percy in his element as the coordinator and the other students bringing in their friends and talents to the table, she was manageably busy.

If that was an actual thing.

So there were classes, random bouts of flying with her brother, helping the girls of gold Dorm hammer out some basic guidelines for civility, tennis, story times, letter writing, evenings in the Library, and reading over information they had collectively gathered before sending it off to the proper people, but-

It was fun.

Even if Heather's dorm felt a little empty, though she rather liked having the place to herself.

She was still  _so ready_  for the holidays.

At least, she  _was_  until she remembered the Balls and was unpleasantly reminded of the fact that she didn't know how to dance.

' _Shitshitshitshitshit!'_

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――


	21. Tenacity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――
> 
> A/N:
> 
> A huge round of applause and adoration for the lovely, talented, and magnificent Silencia20 for her invaluable assistance in particular points of this chapter.
> 
> (More on the specifics in the end note!)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Olivia had actually been fairly busy since Heather had gone off to school.

Madam Cassie had been coaching her on proper behavior in the mornings, and then there were the meetings with Bixbite every other afternoon, and the Montforts were actually fairly busy and so she was doing a lot of assistant work for them.

Heather had sent her cousin, Tonks, Liv's way- mostly to give Liv a better idea of what to study for her NEWT exams- in late August and the two women got along really well! Liv had known  _of_  Tonks, but she hadn't known her, which was a tragedy, really, because Tonks was quickly becoming a dear friend!

Then there were her Lady's requests- which were more time consuming than anything.

Even if she was becoming more unbalanced by the day. Madam Cassie said Liv's wobbly equilibrium was the sign of healthy, powerful baby.

Liv just wanted to be able to get up out of a chair without nearly falling on her head.

Then there was Nigel…

Nigel Montfort was handsome, charming, and rather reserved.

There had been a subtle chemistry between the two of them since they'd met- and Tonks loved to tease Liv about him during the trainee Auror's visits- but Nigel was first and foremost a gentleman. So he'd asked her out to tea one day after work- and off the office grounds- and they'd had a charming little date in London proper.

" _I don't want to make you uncomfortable, so please feel free to speak your mind." He told her, toying with his teacup and glancing out the window of the little café. "So I was going to wait until the Heiress made her transition, but you seemed rather…..upset today." Nigel coughed a bit awkwardly._

_Liv reached a hand over the table and gently patted his arm. "Thank you, Nigel." She told him with a sincere smile, withdrawing back to her side of the table and fiddling with her own tea._

They parted ways after some quiet companionship and sporadic conversation- Liv gave him a hug that he had returned loosely- and the next day at the office had been entirely normal.

But Nigel had no idea what his quiet concern had meant to Liv- after all, there was no way for him to know that it had been the ten year anniversary of her mother's passing.

Liv might be young, but shew as fairly certain she wouldn't mind spending the rest of her life with such a kind and considerate man as her partner.

And they certainly had a decent amount of chemistry…

 _Ahem_.

Then, of course, that asshole Yaxley- Liv had  _always_  hated him!- had dared to corner and threaten her Lady and Heather had become Lady Black, though most merely thought she was Heiress Black.

" _Heather has no mandate to tell the public anything she does not wish to share." Madam Cassie sniffed imperiously when Liv had asked about what Heather's new position might mean for Heather and the public's perception of her. "And she certainly is perfectly capable of using the 'big reveal' of her position as Lady Black- by right and magic- to her utmost advantage."_

Oh, boy. Did she  _ever_!

Then, Sophie had been held before the Board of Governors and they had voted to expel her right then and there, even confiscating her wand!

Fortunately, as a Ward of House Black the girl had immediately been sent to Miss Andromeda, who had been more than accommodating to the young girl. Actually Tonks said that her mum was ecstatic- despite being angry at the circumstances- and that the older woman had been having a wonderful time teaching Sophie how to brew.

" _Girl's got a natural talent with Potions." Tonks boasted with a silly grin. "Mum thinks that's why that Yaxley wanted her so much. Not only are mistresses or concubines used as- ….er, brood mares, sorry!- they also usually get pushed to come up with ways to make money. Didn't used to be so bad, mum says, but since like, the thirties, the whole system has gotten really bad. Used to be a perfectly acceptable option for people who wanted the perks of an Old House's protection- and stuff like money, information, social status and so on- but since the rise of the super fanatic blood purists it's….totally changed."_

To say that Heather had been more than a little angry about the debacle would be a massive understatement.

She had Reginald drafting legislation.

Actually, Heather and her group of friends were gathering data from inside Hogwarts- with more than a little help from several staff members, directly and indirectly- and compiling it before sending it off to Reginald and Nigel.

For more than one piece of legislation!

Heather had accepted Sophie's Expulsion- Liv hadn't realized just how big a deal that was until this situation had exploded- only on the surface, because to throw a fit would have raised questions and done her image a great deal of harm.

" _A fair few young women do not graduate from Hogwarts, sadly." Madam Cassie sighed heavily and pinched her lips together in displeasure. "Most go on to take their OWLs and NEWTs during the open testing periods each December and June, of course, which is entirely acceptable. But so many disappear off into the mists and never achieve even a tenth of their full potential because they lack the experience of growing into themselves that Hogwarts provides." Madam Cassie smiled wanly at Liv, who was a bit taken aback by the rather dull shine to the normally fiery Black woman's lovely grey-blue eyes. "They are tempted by riches or power or pretty words and by the time they realize the corner they've backed themselves into, it is far too late for youthful indiscretions."_

However, that didn't mean Heather had accepted defeat gracefully.

_Oh, no._

Heather was determined to change the laws that had allowed this particular travesty. And given that the likes of Malfoy and his ilk were busy celebrating their recent victory- according to Madam Cassie's sources- and boasting of how they would enjoy smearing the reputation of the House of Black further in an attempt to gain public support for an almost-hostile takeover, they would be entirely unprepared for precision attack that Heather was preparing to hit the last full session of Wizengamot with.

" _They cannot take away the House of Black from my Granddaugher anymore that they could have taken it from myself." Lord Arcturus scoffed contemptuously when Liv had hesitantly informed him of the rumors she had overheard while shopping. "The backlash from their Oaths collapsing would be most amusing to me, however."_

Bixbite and the Black Manager Longaxe- Heather would formally meet him during the Christmas Hols- were also helping. So it was at least a three pronged attack to be launched just before the end of the sitting session, which would make the Wizengamot more likely to pass it and read it later.

No one expected a bit of legislation with so many technical breakdowns, clever wording, and clearly outlined supporting arguments to come from the House of an eleven year old girl angry over her friend's Expulsion from school.

Lord Arcturus was positively  _delighted_. Though his health was beginning to decline, he'd been calling in favors and courting new allies and he had at least six contingencies planned in case others tried to block the bill.

The new bit of legislation was set to be introduced by Lord Gaheris Robards, of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Robards, who commanded great respect among all the neutrals- dark, light, or grey. Lord Arcturus was going to introduce  _three_  new pieces of legislation to help obscure the fact that the legislation proposed by Lord Robards was the only that House Black had been intensely working on.

The decoy proposals and using someone like Lord Robards to introduce her actual bit of revenge had been entirely Heather's idea.

Liv's Lady was  _scary_  when she was angry.

Madam Cassie was  _so proud_!

In exchange for Lord Robard's cooperation Heather had agreed to allowing the House of Robards the honor of being her first proper introduction to wizarding society during the Christmas Hols and had hinted at being at least a little amendable to having Lady Robards serve as part of Heather's Committee when she held the Inheritance Celebration that would announce her to all and sundry as Lady Black.

At any rate, being Heather's first proper introduction as Heiress Black to wizarding society was still a  _huge_  upset for House Robards. A major announcement in any case and doubly so because it would undermine House Malfoy's assumed position of power over the Black assets- and several other reasons- not to mention causing  _all sorts of chaos_  among the aristocracy in  _the entirety_  of central Europe.

It was a bold move that would benefit House Robards in terms of reputation and business for  _decades_ , regardless of any trials Heather and the House might undergo in the coming years.

" _We expect the new few years to be quite dirty." Madam Cassie informed Liv glibly during one of their mid-morning teas. "With several factions being quite insistent on tearing her down and others simply dissatisfied to see the power of the House of Black once again rise to the top, let alone with a Lady at its helm. As a Lady by Right and Magic, Heather has complete control of which suitors she entertains and the balance of power will forever be in her favor. It's going to be utterly delightful to watch the chaos unfold! I haven't enjoyed myself quite this much in ages! It'll be a glorious battle, and when it is over it will be at least two centuries before those ruffians will forget what it means to wage war against a superior House."_

Madam Cassie had  _opinions_ , ok?

The decoy bits of legislation were all things Heather  _did_  want to see done- like regular review of court cases for life-sentenced Azkaban inmates to check for inconsistencies and the revoking of wand-rights requiring an  _actual trial with proper representation_ \- and if those passed she would be delighted, but they were all a smokescreen.

Liv's Lady was  _brilliant_.

" _As a worthy Lady Black should conduct herself." Madam Cassie approved with a small smile. "The fools have run roughshod long enough! It's about time the signs of good breeding can once again be seen in high society's behaviors." The stately woman sniffed in disapproval. "Unlike that upstart commoner boy and his ill-bred chattel."_

In between all her other duties Madam Cassie had also been datamining the current House of Black operations so Heather could make informed decisions on how to proceed.

" _What to trim, what to throw out entirely. What to keep, what to grow. Those sorts of things." Madam Cassie dismissed as she dropped off yet another stack of neatly written parchments on the table that was serving as Heather's 'you need to look over this soon' pile. The important or time sensitive items went straight to her desk._

Misdirection was an old House Black standby, and even Heather's Heiress position becoming a bit more public after the Board hearing hadn't made Madam Cassie's actions circumspect. As far as most anyone knew, Lord Arcturus was still Lord Black and Madam Cassie was slated to become something of a Regent when he passed, as she was unable to become Lady.

Technically all some degree of true, just not precisely accurate. As Heather was already Lady and even if she died- god forbid!- then the Ladyship would remain suspended until a new generation of hopefuls could try and claim the House of Black's Heirship.

Inheritance laws were  _confusing_.

Madam Cassie had laughed at Liv when the assistant had asked if people would notice the difference in Heather's ring.

" _Family Magic protects itself, dear." Madam Cassie smiled in a very self-satisfied manner fussing with her umbrella busily. "Outsiders won't know that Heather is rightfully Lady Black until she wants them to. Dear Arcturus and I are merely having a bit of fun muddying up the waters a bit to keep the rabble on their toes."_

Blacks were devious.

Liv had inquired as to why Madam Cassie wasn't just making the decisions herself- as Liv's Lady was still quite young- but Madam Cassie had been firm in the assertion that the Black businesses were  _Heather's businesses_.

" _Arcturus and I have been lax in our management over the past decade. Something we will not allow to continue." Madam Cassie smiled sharply. "And when we go around and introduce our new Heiress- there will be the Yule Balls, for instance- you and I will be there to ensure the fools regret underestimating her. Heather will likely be quite vexed when she notes how greedy a few of the regional managers have become, and a good shakeup near the start of her reign will be good for her and the Family interests." Madam Cassie nodded regally to Tansy, who popped in with a tea tray, missives from Heather neatly piled to the side. "Also, the chaos will obscure any missteps she might make, so it will be much, much more difficult for her enemies to find weaknesses to use against her. Especially while Arcturus and I still live."_

Placed in that context, Madam Cassie's actions made more sense, but Liv was still a bit worried for her Lady.

Though, to be fair, Harry had been running interference and set a whole horde of people to ensure his sister didn't overwork herself.

 _Again_.

" _Those kids are the very best of James and Lily." Remus Lupin- Harry's equivalent of Liv's relation to Heather- said fairly often during their lunches. Sirius, Nigel and Reginald; Lord Arcturus, and Madam Cassie were also regulars to the lunch-slash-information sharing sessions. Occasionally Tonks came by as well, but she was pretty busy with Auror training. "Their parents would be so proud of them."_

Liv certainly hoped James and Lily were proud of their children! While the assistant was under no delusions that her Lady was unassailably perfect, Liv firmly believed that Heather was more than worth the faith the rest of the adults were investing in her.

But there was still the question of Sophie's education to attend to- as well to any others who might suffer in the same manner in the future. Or possibly students who had been Removed in the past. Heather was positively  _adamant_  that there had to be a school,  _somewhere_ , that taught students who had wand troubles! The young Ward could be educated by Tonks' mum, but Heather wanted to make a  _point_  and show others like Sophie that they weren't castoffs.

" _They are fully functional members of society who deserve a solid education and gainful employment!" Heather wrote firmly, her usual henylu rounded handwriting jagged and rough. "They are not worth any less than I am, they just have slightly different talents! So we accommodate them and watch the idiots who dare discard them suffer for their lack of vision!"_

Which led to Liv's current research project- because Heather had found such a place.

Rich in history and tradition, fully willing and able to accept students who could at least handle magical plants.

Well, the ICW used the Isis Sliding Scale of Potential and the school required that students at least registered on the scale. The Isis Scale was measured directly through a sample of blood and hair against a treated parchment, which was a bit more indicative of magic  _potential_  than magic  _output_ , like the Hectara Scale measured.

For reference, squibs usually scored  _higher_  than wand-users, simply because most of their 'potential' wasn't already being sapped to power their 'magical core' or as the ICW called it, the 'conduit reserve of magical energy'.

It was all  _very_  interesting and a cutting-edge study. The research and the Isis Scale did not exist to try and push for the wizarding world to come out of hiding- despite what most of the hardcore naysayers claimed- but rather that the magical world should expand its definition of 'citizens' and stop sending those with magic potential out into the muggle world. Supporters argued that it was the practice of casting out non-wand-using that posed the most risk to the Statute.

So the Hans von Aachen Institute for Magical Education- which is how the school's name translated from German- was pretty much everything Heather had wanted,  _and_  it was even endorsed by the ICW like Hogwarts or Beauxbatons!

But it came with a price tag.

Really one of the steepest ones: reputation.

No matter the internal struggles of image, the House of Black was well-known and well respected through Europe and Asia. Madam Cassie was fairly certain that having the House of Black attach their name to the school would also pull in at least two dozen other respectable, long-standing Houses as well.

" _The House of Black is known for their acumen in such things." Lord Arcturus commented proudly as he read over the letter, attached information, and Heather's response during the morning meeting. "We are trendsetters and the rest of the world loves and fears us for it."_

Heather had forwarded Madam Connie's response to Heather back to Liv, the Montforts, Madam Cassie, and Lord Arcturus and this morning they had met and discussed everything.

Liv was still a bit surprised at how accommodating Madam Cassie and Lord Arcturus were being- they were rather conservative- but apparently Madam Cassie and Madam Connie had once taken over a small fleet of smuggler's ships and used them to turn the tide of a battle somewhere in the Mediterranean and her judgement and personal investment was worth its weight in gold.

Small world, eh?

―――◊―――

" _Dear Heather,_

_I am surprised, but pleased, to hear of your inquiries into auxiliary education options for your fellow students!_

_The answer, however, will take some explaining, so please bear with me. And if I wax a bit poetic, please understand that this is something I am very passionate about and I get a bit carried away sometimes, hm?_

_A very long time ago there were a few Clans that were either exiled or left- no one truly remembers- the Stoneblood capital city of Caldera, which rests miles beneath the Mediterranean Sea. These exiles traveled though the earth towards the Baltic Sea, far to the north._

_I feel that I should tell you that the Baltic Sea- more correctly, the earth beneath the seabed- hosts the world's oldest modern earthen race, the Icespine. They are a typically benevolent, but cautious race. Their anger is truly terrifying when roused, but they have been known to take in outcasts from other earthen races. Their capital city is translated into English as Floefjord._

_But, I digress._

_The exiled Stonebloods moved through the earth as they traveled, unwilling to risk encounters human settlements or unfriendly magical beasts or beings on the surface. Being cut off from Caldera and the fresh trade of meats, breads, and cheeses from the surface these Stonebloods ate rocks from the bedrock itself as sustenance, as the poorest citizens in Caldera were forced to do._

_Of course, they occasionally found gems, ore, and strangely glowing minerals. But those didn't taste very good at all! They were shiny and pretty, though, so they spit them out and hauled the shiny things behind them in makeshift carts as they went._

_The long years of travel deep beneath the earth- and especially through mountains- bleached their skin stone-grey. They eyes turned a pinkish-red, adjusted for excellent night vision and being near to magma. Their bodies changed, too! They grew shorter and stouter, their claws grew thicker, and their muscles five times as solid as the stone they consumed._

_By the time their legendarily incompetent navigator, Cracktooth, guided them to the Ore Mountains- that run along the border of modern-day Germany and Czechoslovakia- they had been adrift for at least one hundred and forty years!_

_When they broke through a stone wall in the middling reaches of these mountains, they stumbled upon some unexpected company._

_Again, I should explain._

_In the Ore Mountains lives a branch of Cynocephalus Family, known as the Ore Canoids. These are beings with the body of a humanoid, save their canine heads and feet. They communicate primarily through barking and body language and prefer to keep to themselves, making their living as hunters, farmers, and fishermen._

_Incidentally, they are long-time friends of Undine, the homely water spirits who live in the nearby rivers._

_But, back to the story!_

_Cracktooth, after introductions were made- I am unsure precisely as to how- was tasked with fixing the situation by his rather annoyed fellow travelers. By this point the exiles spoke in a language of grinding boulders and crumbling rock, much different from the guttural language of the Stonebloods proper._

_After a few failed attempts at negotiations, Cracktooth discovered that the Canoids were rather fearful of starving through the deep parts of the winter, as they had had a terrible year all around, thanks in no small part to some idiot wizarding would-be slavers attempting to capture some of the Undine for nefarious purposes._

_The village of Mähring- which was about half gifted and half not at that point- is the closest settlement along the Ore Mountains, relative to the Canoids' homes. In short order- thanks to the mischief children of all races can get up to together if left unattended for a single moment- the Canoids had taken some of the exiled Stoneblood's 'shinies' to trade for food._

_The winter passed peacefully, with the exiled Stonebloods happily carving up the mountain to help their new associates build better homes._

_The exiles were granted the moniker 'Stonegrind' by one of the humans who came to trade with the Canoids early in the spring- for the noise they made when they bit into a hunk of solid stone- and they were so pleased with the name they adopted it as their new identity._

_After so many years of wandering, the Stonegrind were ready to make a home. And the upper reaches of the mountains were inhospitable, even for most of the magical humans. Mähring was close, but not too close, and the wizards were very accommodating once given a handful or two of disgusting-tasting gems._

_After some discussions with the Canoids, the Stonegrind decided to stay._

_The Stonegrind happily carved their way through the tall, wide mountains. From the tallest, coldest summits, all the way down to the crunchy molten cores deep within._

_They sculpted grand rooms fit for kings! For themselves and their allies they made comfortable homes made from smoothly sanded stone. They engraved stone riverbeds for the Undines and laboriously redirected the nearby rivers through the mountains, allowing the water spirits to live inside the mountains if they wished- or just to visit! Pure, sparkling waters were painstakingly directed to stream liberally over glowing mineral clusters and through tranquil, gently glowing pond cradles only to cheerfully splash over the edges of pitched points and freefall into fountains or other ornamental wonders. The Stonegrind carved intricate, trellised archways with breathtaking mosaics and rounded mazes of hallways with delicately glowing patterns of minerals sprawled along the walls to not only light the way, but act as a rudimentary map!_

_It is a truly magnificent sight to behold! I dearly hope you'll be able to walk the halls of Stonyhaven someday so you might see it for yourself!_

_They made small forges and the taught the Canoids how to make jewelry, something the Canoids of the Ore mountains are now renowned for. The Canoids taught the Stonegrind how to make Stone Meal- mead made from stone that is considered a delicacy by nearly all earthen races._

_Small sprites came to the refuge, though no one can agree on when. Tiny little balls of light representative of the elements who zip around cheerfully when content and wilt unhappily to a dim glow when sad. They are helpful and mischievous and fiercely protective those in their 'territory'._

_Then came the Lindwyurm. Little dragon-wyrms with rainbow scales who prey on nightmares and negative emotions. Thought to be bad omens, unfortunately, but genuinely sweet darlings who love to cuddle with young children and enjoy fruit given as a treat. They turn into terrifying nightmares if their chosen charge is threatened._

_Heinzelmännchen slowly migrated towards the mountains after humans kept staying awake to spy on them. They are adorable little gnomes- about as tall as a toddler- who wear pointed red hats and little Santa-elf shoes. The males have long beards and handlebar mustaches while the women have fluffy white hair and wear aprons. They love to do things to help- such as laundry or cooking or other small jobs- but they despise being spied on. They are fiercely independent and woe to anyone who tries to enslave them._

_The mysterious and elusive Wolpertinger are a variety of sprite. To those with kind hearts they usually appear to be a comforting animal and are often 'imaginary friends'. To those with evil hearts they appear to be monstrosities with the head of a wolf, the ears of a cat, the torso of a bear, a leg of a lizard and a leg of a boar, and steel-sharp avian wings for arms. They are usually quite gentle, though very shy, and are very few in number._

_The nearby wizards brought wand magic to trade for mountain treasures. First to help warm the inside of the mountains and then to allow the Canoids to grow food year-round in large fields carved over shallow beds of water. Finally the wizards helped the entire area hide away from the rest of the world, with magical Mähring being the only way in for an outsider._

_Over time, wizards migrated to the mountain as well. Houses were built with those cheerful, bright tiled roofs that are so common around Prague. The outdoor streets were also done in colorful tiles- to be easier seen under the snow!- and thus, magical Mähring was founded!_

_Now, as you might assume, my storytelling has a point, dear!_

_The Canoids and the Stonegrind are small races- numbering just a few thousand each. They comfortably fit inside a single mountain, with plenty of room to spare._

_My husband, Jost, inherited the 'land' after a great deal of his extended family died, mostly during the Grindlewald era. And he has received permission from the Canoids and the Stonegrind to open a school for any and all magical children-wand using or not- inside the mountain closest to Mähring. Money, of course, is no object because the Stonegrind and Canoid have little use for such things and have mountains of it, but what he lacks is proper backing._

_Which is the crux of the matter._

_Forgive me for using common nomenclature, but this will be trying enough to explain without my preferred terminology._

_No families of good standing wish to put their name on a school for- please excuse the slur- 'squibs'. The Old Lines are also rather indifferent to the fact that central Europe educates less than ten percent of their 'muggleborn' population. They cite that the ICW keeps accidental magic outbursts quiet as a reason to no show any concern, entirely disregarding plummeting birthrates and the shrinking population!_

_Beauxbatons is highly selective and only takes muggleborn if there are open seats left after all the native races are accounted for, which isn't often. France has the highest rate of successful gifted childbirth in the world._

_Portugal's only school is quite small, though the Portuguese certainly do their best to take in as many muggleborn as possible._

_Italy has three schools. One near Rome, where the most devout Catholic gifted are trained and is closely intertwined with the Church. One near Palermo in Sicily, and then the main school in Venice. Both of the smaller schools are highly influenced by religion and nonmagical crime syndicates._

_Durmstrang doesn't take nonmagically born at all, and hasn't for nearly a decade._

_There are three schools in the area known to the nonmagicals as the USSR. The oldest is the Kievan Rus school, which was closely intertwined with Eastern Orthodox religion and has quite a few borrowed ideal from the Byzantine Empire, they are a small and exclusive school. The Novgorod school is the smallest of the three and focuses mostly on magical trade training. The final school was establish by Michael Romanov, thought budget and political issues meant it barely was organized and recognized by the time the Statute went into effect._

_In the far north, Siberia, there are several tribes of indigenous peoples, but they are highly reclusive._

_As you can probably imagine, all these scattered, smaller operations allow for many talented children to fall through the cracks in the system. Many of these children end up in dire circumstances, because they are just different enough from their non-gifted counterparts to make them feel isolated and they are largely without any much-needed support. For every single child embraced and loved unconditionally there are six who are not._

_Forgive my long-winded explanation, but I wished to give you a very clear picture as to how scattered and disjointed the central European education system. Most Families educate their children and vassal families locally, as opposed to dealing with smaller government schools._

_As you can probably imagine, the compartmentalized and rather niche nature of this area of the world does not lend itself to open and sharing magical governments. Most have not yet recovered from the era of Grindelwald and his top lieutenants- Alpiglen, Burglauenen, Grund, Itramen, Mühlebach, Schwendi, Tschingelberg and Wargistal._

_If you look on a map, you'll notice that those names all come from a municipality in Switzerland called Grindelwald. Obviously they were code names and we never did ascertain the origins of three of them, which only made the post-war finger-pointing political scrambling worse._

_In conclusion, Jost would be delighted to take in your fellow students! Only, he would need the official support of a long-standing House- such as yours!- or the education they'll receive won't be thought of as employable. Many of the students he's taught have stayed on to become teachers or live at the school's site as researchers or consultants as they cannot find employment elsewhere, save for the ICW._

_I will not sugarcoat the issue, dear. It will make House Potter a laughingstock among the 'elite' until the students have had time to grow and prove their worth. And even then some people are likely to never acknowledge the school's worth, as they are predisposed to looking down on alternative forms of magic. This decision would affect who wished to be seen with you in public, friendships, relationships, and business matters._

_Tread carefully, dear, and seek counsel from your elders. Elders that you trust._

_Always willing to help,_

_Constance Rausch_

_Senior Intermediary"_

―――◊―――

Heather, naturally, had been entirely ready and willing to affix her House to such a school given the ample amount of evidence- which Madam Cassie and Bixbite each independently confirmed to be true- proved, as had Harry.

Sophie and Andromeda were set to go tour the school with Andromeda's husband, Ted, whose entire business was made from trying to help find his fellow muggleborn or half-bloods gainful employment post-Hogwarts.

So, chances were that during Christmas the official documents would be signed and the names Potter and Black would be affixed to the school. It was risky, but the school and its staff had been well-researched and it really was the best option that any of them had come across for students like Sophie.

It would be up to Ted to decide whether or not some of his clients would also benefit from the institution, so there might be multiple trips to the secluded little patch deep within the Ore Mountains.

Heather and Harry had already ordered funds to be allotted to help with travel expenses and any relocation efforts that might be necessary, so long as Madam Cassie approved of anything over ten galleons for a single person. Harry had added an addendum that Bixbite was to be consulted if the entire fund went over a hundred galleons in a month's time, which Liv thought was entirely responsible and financially sound of him.

Liv had been  _ecstatic_  that Madam Cassie had been put in charge of those sorts of decisions. Not only was Liv learning a lot about such things from the older woman, Liv didn't feel confident enough to make those sorts of snap decisions just yet, despite her Lady being perfectly patient and accepting of Liv's occasional mistakes.

On the wall to her left, the clock chimed and startled Liv back into the present.

Liv sighed and placed the long parchment back down on her darkly polished desk inside her shiny new office.

It was still a bit strange to be in the more- somber? Regal?- Black office building than the rather warmer Potter one. Of course this building would likely look much more welcoming- if still austere- once Heather had it decorated to her liking.

' _That reminds me! I need to finish the adverts for an interior designer so Madam Cassie can get them put in the Prophet!'_  Liv hurriedly made herself a note.  _'Sirius said he'd be more than happy to do the twins' shopping, but that we should really look into an actual Interior Designer after he stopped to consider the clarification that the twins wanted to share one- at least for now- and that they had quite a few properties between the two inheritances. I almost forgot!'_

Magic was amazing, but sticky-notes were a lifesaver to a rather magically unstable pregnant woman. Even if they did look a little strange being stuck to parchment.

' _Poor Heather is going to be quite busy the first week, leading up to Christmas, doing interviews and touring the Black properties. Oh!'_  Liv thought as she dug out another set of parchments, these pertaining to the various permits Heather would need to visit the international properties.

Well, mostly Heather just had to register as the owner of the properties with certain magical governments or independent regional councils, so if there was a problem they knew who to contact.

Heather could go to any of the properties she owned through use of…well, Madam Cassie had given Liv an in-depth discussion on things that were polite to inquire about and things that she should never poke her nose into and that was one of the examples of the latter.

Since the Great War the ICW countries- and even small settlements- had invested a great deal of money and effort into international warding- or, more correctly, into hindering arbitrary international travel and the last time Lord Black or an Auditor had been sent to most of these properties had been in the mid-seventies.

So while  _Heather_  could access her properties at any time, it would be better for the House Black businesses and business relations to do things properly.

Just this once.

It meant a lot of form-filling out for Liv, basically.

Bureaucratic busywork.

She couldn't wait for her baby to be born so that her magic would settle down!

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――
> 
> A/N:
> 
> So the wonderful Silencia20 helped me with the shaping of Madam Connie's school! SO MUCH! She unearthed local legends and helped me pick an area and- she just made the whole thing spectacular, ok?
> 
> A huge round of applause to her!
> 
> ―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――


	22. Wonder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Once again a huge 'thank you' to the lovely and exceedingly talented Silencia20 for all her help with the school in the Ore Mountains! I know some people were confused about it, but it will have a huge impact on Heather and Harry later on down the line...
> 
> ―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather sometimes forgot that she was learning _magic_.

Honestly, among the multiple duties she had to Family, trying to make progress into the enormous backlog of paperwork, and attempting to learn an entirely new system of being- well, the majesty, the wonder, was sometimes lost.

The First Year curriculum was also geared into reinforcing the very basics, which was incredibly dull to Heather. 

In Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense it was wand movements, concentration exercises, rote memorization being reinforced over and over again.  In Potions- despite Professor Snape’s rather epic first day speech, which Harry had magnanimously relayed to her- the stirring motions corresponded to wand movements.  Preparing ingredients was largely glossed over in favor of learning which fires were to be used the proper potion type and how a _twirl_ versus a _swirl_ stirring motion could mean all the difference between a poison and a remedy. 

Herbology was all about common sense and how to recognize the most dangerous types of plant life by sight.  Literally.  That was most of the curriculum.  Every other lesson Sprout would put two saplings or cuttings in front of a pair and then the pair would have to use their text to determine which plant was benign and which was not.  Which meant that even those who couldn’t be bothered with the practical half of the class- which was essentially magical farming- still learned something important, if only by unpleasant fluid to the face or arms and a trip to the Infirmary.  There was some crossover when it came to proper cutting and preservation techniques, which Heather assumed was why Snape didn’t focus on it much.

But it was all so repetitive.  So _dull_.

Heather had been keeping a tight grip on her frustration with her fellow students, though.  She understood- she did!- the struggles they were having.  Could see how hard they were working to overcome obstacles that didn’t exist for her.  And she helped where she could! 

When Heather noticed that Cordelia Carrow tended to hyperfixate- on Charms mostly- while also tending to miss social cues, needing to be reminded every five minutes about what she’d been told to do, and had acute reactions to negativity directed at her person, the former Potter Heiress had been starkly reminded of Before-her’s brother.  He’d had Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.  So Heather had written up everything she remembered about helping him manage his ADHD-related issues and had Percy slip Assistant Professor Shacklebolt.

Gracey Tilton was one of the Ravenclaw aux students- what Heather had taken to calling their group- and after Heather had witnessed the Ravenclaw having a meltdown over their things being coated in stickiness thanks to an ill-timed prank- the meltdown required Madame Pomfrey to come to the student- instead of making fun of the girl, she had sent for information.  Six days later Liv sent back a thick file of compiled information about neurological disorders, diagnosis and treatment options, and contact information for Healers, Physicians and the like. 

Percy passed the file to Penelope Clearwater, who passed it to Professor Flitwick, who then passed it to Madame Pomfrey, who then went to the Headmaster. 

A fortnight later Headmaster Dumbledore announced that the school would be hosting a cadre of Apprentice Physicians, who were compiling information for their Mastery Thesis.  Gracey Tilton was one of the many students whose parents agreed to allowing the foreign Healers to treat their offspring, and then Gracey herself agreed.

And yet, for every situation where Heather could help- there were twice as many that she couldn’t.

Rhiannon Rookwood had lashed out at Heather when the red-haired girl had tried to offer help with the girl’s obvious scarring.  The right side of Rhiannon’s face looked like someone had carved it up and then just let the upraised skin harden.  If that weren’t terrible enough, the girl’s eye was almost entirely obscured by the jagged scarring, and Heather had noticed the girl’s intense headaches from trying to constantly compensate for her bad eye.

The Black Family Magic had protected Heather from the sickly yellowish curse, but Heather would never forget the unhinged look and the nauseating feel of the girl’s magic as it rose between them during Rhiannon’s emotional outburst.

And the less said about Heather’s attempt to comfort Audrey Diggle after Heather had used strategically placed stinging hexes to chase off some upper year Slytherins the better.  That had been in a loo on the fourth floor and Heather had yet to feel comfortable going back into it after being thoroughly lambasted and shoved hard enough she lost her footing and cracked her head on one of the ornate sinks.

Red hair was rather good at hiding blood.

So, while magic was wondrous….it often took a backseat to the many, many things that Heather felt the compulsive urge to ‘fix’.

Yes, she was aware that it was a particularly bad habit of hers, but as the older sibling of a younger who didn’t ‘look special needs/disabled’ the lesson of ‘you never know the struggle someone else is going through no matter what they seem like on the outside’ had been learned.  Repeatedly.  Unforgettably.

Irrevocably.

Yet, as she stepped inside the Room of Requirement- she was well and truly lost, but the Trolls were sort of a giveaway- and into a room that only existed inside her dreams, she was once again reminded of the majesty, the wonderment of _magic_.

The door slid shut behind her and she dropped her fall satchel on the floor.  Satin skirts swished in the quiet of the room as she quickly walked towards the stupidly tall bed with the dragon quilt and by the time she had fallen face-first into a comfort she had forgotten she needed, she was crying.

She could almost feel a warm weight draped over her waist and warm breaths on her hair.  Could smell the scent of Old Spice lingering on the right side pillowcase and the insistent press of a kitty’s toe beans on her forehead. 

_“Moooooom!  Pay attention to me!”  Her husband laughed as she glared half-heartedly at his ‘I’m not moving, I’m comfortable’ expression while their eldest brat-cat wanted nighttime pets.  “Moooom~!”_

“I miss you _so much_.”  Heather cried into the magically-replicated quilt that she, Granny, and her husband had started right before Granny had suddenly passed.  Before-her had been so heartbroken she hadn’t been able to look at the half-finished quilt.  Her wonderful mother-in-law had quilted it for her as a surprise that Christmas, and she had cherished the gift for the rest of her life.  “There’s so much I could use your help with.  You were my partner, my buddy, my best friend- and I don’t know how to do this without you!”

Instead of toe beans, light claws scraped against her forehead and when Heather glanced up there was Chromie, paw stretched out languidly, staring at Heather steadily.

Heather reached out and stole Chromie, earning herself an indignant squawk and a disgruntled ball of fluff to try and cuddle with.  Chromie mewed in protest and wriggled, but eventually got distracted trying to groom Heather’s hair, so Heather managed to hold onto her.

The Black Lady knew that she should get up.  That she should walk to the door and find her brother and smile and apologize for losing her protective detail but she was just so _tired_. Not just her body- though Astronomy killed her sleep schedule- but in spirit.  She just felt so _drained_.

Magic, wealth, and the resilience of youth could only carry her so far.

Was it Christmas Break yet?

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather all but ran off the train, having waited for the crowd to thin down a bit before she disembarked.  Secure in the knowledge that Mimsy had her luggage and Chromie, she only had to contend with her satchel.  The frigid December winds whipped her flyway hair into her face but she ignored the whiptail stings as she rushed into Sirius’ outstretched arms.

He had recovered a good deal of muscle, magic remedies mixing well with constant small meals and running after Snuffles.  And he was warm, smelling of something spicy and safe and she stood there for a long moment, nose buried into his chest as the feeling of being safe washed over her like waves crashing against the shore.

“Hey, flower.”  Sirius murmured into her hair, one arm releasing her, letting in a spike of cold air before suddenly Harry was there, pressed up against her and Sirius as well.  “Gods is it good to be able to hold you two again.”  Sirius’ voice was thick with emotion, but with a firm kiss to each of their heads he composed himself, stepping back just far enough for Snuffles and Mallie to nosily push their way into the embrace.

The moment broke and then was there Grandfather, smelling of parchment and smoke.  “Granddaughter.”  He greeted genially, his voice somewhat thinner than she remembered.  He pushed her back a bit and inspected her intently. 

But before he could say anything Sirius and Harry bounded over, minus Snuffles and Mallie. And then they were all heading for the portkey station.  In a muted burst of magic they disappeared.

**\--XXX---**

“Welcome!”  A man with white-streaked crimson hair greeted them cordially.  He was dressed in typical wizarding robes, only with a litany of badges emblazoned down the left side, with the emblem of the school proudly displayed on the right side.  He had thick, calloused hands and faint scars peeking out from the edges of his impressive beard.  “To the Hans von Aachen Institute for Magical Education!”  His words were crisp and clean, but there was a bit of brogue that belied his native tongue.

“Thank you for having us.”  Heather replied somewhat absently, too busy taking in the sight of the entrance grounds.  Small streams burbled happily over time-worn rock formations, pooling into the bases of statues before running off over the roaring falls at the side of the cliff.  The arched entrance had massive, ornately decorated, intricately carved doors that were standing wide open beneath a jewel encrusted doorway.

Brightly colored sprites zipped through the air, their tiny voices sounding like bells on the wind.  From within the school she could see the inquisitive faces of students and what looked like tiny serpentine dragons with luminescent rainbow scales peering curiously from behind wide pillars.  Cats of all types seemed to be lounging on various surfaces, tails flicking in mild interest.

“Wicked.”  Harry breathed beside her, all but bouncing on his toes.

“Right you are, pup.”  Sirius added, seeming like a kid in a candy store.  “This place gives Hogwarts a run for her money, as much as a traitor as I feel for saying that.”

The man- Jost Rausch, if Heather remembered correctly- let out a warm, booming laugh.  “Well, we’ll certainly take the compliment, my good sir!”  The man grinned down at Heather and suddenly the girl could see this gentle bear of a man as Madam Connie’s partner-in-crime.  “Come in!  You must be cold!  And though the wards do an excellent job of negating altitude sickness, you’ll feel much more like your usual selves after some hot food and rest!”

**\--XXX---**

“I gotta admit, Soph, I’m almost jealous.”  Heather told her former roommate-Family ward with a somewhat wistful grin.

The dorms were in a long stone hall with winding, ascending levels.  The students were all mixed and matched, putting young students between older students that could assist them, with Wardens- like Resident Assistants- in slightly larger apartments at regular intervals.  The apartments were small, perhaps the size of Dudley’s second bedroom back at Number Four.

But even at this base level, the institute set itself apart from other magical schools.

Thursdays were laundry day, when all the students gathered up their personal laundry- the secretive Heinzelmännchen took care of things such as bedsheets or Potions smocks- and trooped to the Washing Hall, which was down a small hallway and a short flight of stairs.  The Hall had traditional wizarding washing equipment but also had ‘modern’- 1950sish- washers and dryers.  So the students learned household charms as well as the more ‘mundane’ ways of doing things, as not all of the students could focus their magic enough to activate runes or perform the charms.  But all learned how the other half lived and learned personal responsibility early on.

Adjacent to the Washing Hall was the Bathing Tower.  Technically the Tower had showers as well as baths, of course, but again there was the mix of nonmagical and magical taps.  With the added bonus of the occasional glittering, chittering sprite splashing through or the serpentine Lindwryum meandering through, rinsing their gleaming  scales in the torrents of hot waters.

The mountain-ensconced school was….magical.  A wholly different experience from Hogwarts, but somehow actually fantastically _magical_ to Heather.  Not that Hogwarts was bad or anything…..but there was a lack of expectation here.  Not only that but from the youngest student- an orphan four year old from southern Asia- to the burly Headmaster there was a sense of excitement and innovation; a sense that anything was possible.

It was….free in a way that Hogwarts wasn’t and Heather was by turns excited and jealous.

“It’s amazing.”  Sophie agreed, dropping onto her bed and grinning so widely Heather wondered if it made the girl’s face ache a bit.  “Ted has a whole list of new students coming after the holidays- we have so many different faiths here we just call the whole of December ‘Celebrations Month’- and after that we’re….”

Heather let Sophie ramble on, smiling slightly, happy beyond anything else she was feeling that this girl hadn’t ended up in the clutches of someone like Yaxley.

 _Fuck_ those idiots who were making fun of her in their articles.  Heather and the House of Black- and Harry and House Potter- would see them all eating their words.

**\--XXX---**

Heather laughed, chasing after two dull yellow and bright gold sprites, trying to catch the mischievous little things before they carried her satchel off entirely.  The inside of the mountain was warm despite the being so near the snowcapped peaks and coupled with all the merry chase the two little buggers had led her on Heather didn’t doubt that her face was a red as her hair.

She had the feeling that Harry had been making new friends.  How he knew she had been going over some reports she had no idea, but somehow he knew and had recruited assistance, of that she was certain.

She couldn’t blame him though!  The elemental sprites were all different shades of color and had an innate cheerful energy that made everyone around them feel brighter, for lack of a better phrase.

They were definitely having a bit too much fun having two Marauders- Remus had arrived the morning after they did, with Aunt Cassie in tow- and her brat of a brother around, though!

She caught up with the sprites at the end of a hall that she had never see.

And then she promptly forgot about finance reports.

“Amazing.”  She breathed, looking around the cavernous cave in wonder.  All along the walls were radiant stones and strangely glowy greenery.  She stepped further off the stone path, reaching out a hand to let a sprite alight on it for her to use a personal spritelight.  Dropping her newly reacquired satchel to the mossy floor, she slipped off her boots, using her wand to unlace them so she wouldn’t have to surrender her little friend. 

The mossy floor of the cave was cool and damp under her bare feet, but not cold.  She drifted between strangely stone tree trunks, leisurely making her way towards the sound of running water.  She walked and walked, until her calves were burning unpleasantly, and she just about gave up before she turned a corner and found herself some place entirely different.

Humanoids with canine heads and feet turned to peer at her curiously, their fastidious work stilling.

On her hand her sprite perked up and zipped off to greet a few of the strange people. 

“Uh hello?”  she tried, causing more than a few to cock their heads to the side in a manner eerily reminiscent to Mallie and Snuffles.  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I think I got lost and I’m-I’ll just be going now, I’m sorry!”  She bowed a little and went to back up and return the way she came, only to be stopped by a curious whine from behind her.

When she turned around an older, grey spotted, humanoid was standing near her, bright gold eyes seeming to pierce her soul. 

Heather stayed entirely still.

Eventually the- man?- man a ‘gruff’ sound and nodded, his doggy ears flapping against the sides of his furry face.  He made a ‘follow me’ gesture with his fleshy but still not entirely human hand and led her to a workstation nearly at the end of the room, his tail wafting lazily behind him.

Heather watched in silent fascination as the man began to knit- knit!- some silvery metal together, making small, precise loops, occasionally threading a nearby gem onto it.  Small gems of green, blue, purple, and pearlescent white.  There was something fascinating in watching the man work his craft, his golden eyes intent on the task, seemingly forgetting her entirely.

Just as she was contemplating excusing herself- she was _starving_ \- the dog-man looked up, gesturing for her arm.  She handed him both her arms, removing her right when he reached for her left.  Her Family Ring breathed into existence, sitting proudly on her pointer finger.  But the dog-man didn’t seem to notice or care, instead he slipped the lightweight silvery metal piece of art onto her wrist, patting it firmly when she gave him an askance look.

He pointed from the new addition to the silvery dragonfly that rested on the curve of her right ear, then to the dancing, flittering sprite and back to the bracelet. 

Then she was being gently, but pointedly, ushered back to the cave.  And when she turned to thank him she found that the workshop was no longer there.

Magic.

Her little sprite friend settled back down onto her hand and its buddy came zooming down from deeper inside the cavern. 

She followed their lights back to the Dining Hall, bemused.

**\--XXX---**

Heather was speechless.  “ _What_?”  She squeaked embarrassingly shrilly.

The homely young woman with silken blonde hair and bright, cresting wave blue eyes laughed lightly, the sounds bright and cheerful.  By her side a humanoid with a canine head and feet barked twice in rapid succession, the sounds sharp and contrasting to the burbling sounds of the Undine nymph.

“It considered a sign of good fortune to be gifted an Undine garment.”  Headmaster Jost explained, his blue-green eyes crinkled near the edges, betraying his amusement.  “And in my experience its best to merely accept the gift, the ladies of the waters are surprisingly stubborn.”

“A-Are you sure?”  Heather asked somewhat hesitantly, loathe to touch the seemingly free-floating garment with her human hands.  The water nymph nodded eagerly, her mermaid tail swishing lightly behind her as Heather reached for the folded pile of fabric held in the water nymph’s outstretched arms. 

She had already been given a gift once this visit!  What the _hell_?

Heather gasped in surprise as the silken fabric unraveled, showcasing a beautiful dress.  The top was corset like, decorated tastefully with small jewels and ribbons, with laces in the back that bled into a full skirt that ended in trailing, delicate lace.  She almost dropped the arm covers- beautiful sheer things that ended in full gloves and would likely run up to just short of her shoulder.  The color shifted a bit throughout, like light on the water, but the dress was nearly an exact reflection of Harry’s eyes.

“This is……beautiful.”  Heather murmured, her eyes wide with awe.  She glanced over at the nymph, suddenly wondering what she was supposed to do.  Was she supposed to bow?  Nod?  Curtsey?

The Undine woman let out another laugh, doing a strange forward flip that cause her tail to land heavily on the water.  Heather shut her eyes to avoid getting water in them, and when she opened them again the nymph and the- Canoid, was it?- were gone.

“Thank you.”  She murmured to the empty stone water basin before she shivered, realizing that she had gotten a fair bit of water on her from the undine watery departure.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

Heather took stock of her appearance, her red hair still wet from the shower and twisted up into a bun.

They had arrived back to Blackmoor Hall just that morning and it was just now after dinner.  But Heather had been insanely curious as to her new dress, feeling a bit chagrined at how much childish excitement bubbled up inside her at the thought of such a pretty piece of clothing.

But it was just so…..perfect!  How could she possibly put it on her klutzy self?

Still, she found herself standing in front of the looking glass hung on the back of her wardrobe door wondering who the hell was staring back at her.  Mimsy had been a dear and tightened the back of the dress for her and she…..she looked so different from her usual self.  The slipsoft fabric glided over her slightly lumpy teenage form, somehow making awkward pre-teen look somewhat refined and elegant.  The neat rows of ribbons and gems added depth to her torso in a manner that was both elegant and tasteful while the skirt fell to the floor in an stylish ripple of fabric.

Even the brightly painted toes peeking out from under the delicate lace just sweeping against the floor and the glasses perched on her nose.  Aunt Cassie was going to get her eyes treated tomorrow, supposedly the woman’s Christmas gift but Heather had a feeling Aunt Cassie would hardly hold herself to that polite fiction.

_“It’s not a Christmas gift, it’s a Boxing Day gift!”_

Heather laughed a bit at herself, pulling on the gauzy arm covers, her digits slipping easily into the immaculately made fingers.  Her new bracelet easily shifted to sit atop the fabric, as did her ring.  On her ear her dragonfly decoration reflected in the light and on her right hand her wand holster- the black dragonhide leather with the silver stitching- rested underneath.

With little more than a thought and the slightest brush of her fingers her pale wand shot into her hand, a familiar weight after all these months.  She still didn’t know a great deal of spells but she had a much better idea of how to perform them, what made them work.

Her door opened and she whirled around, embarrassed to be caught out playing dress-up like a silly little girl.  She dismissed her wand and tried to control her mortified feelings at being caught out so unexpectedly.

Sirius stood there, frozen at the sight of her.

He stared at her so long Heather began to feel self-conscious.  “What?”  She snapped, a bit sharper than intended, crossing her arms across her chest defensively, red creeping up her neck and into her face.

Sirius shook his head- not unlike a dog- and walked closer to her, a bittersweet smile playing around the edges of his mouth.  “You’re already so grownup.”  He said, stopping just short of her and seeming to drink in every detail about her.  “A Lady in your own right and- hell, flower, I’ve missed _so_ _much_.”

Heather’s stance softened and she reached out for Sirius- this broken, broken man who loved his brother’s children so very fiercely- embracing him in a hug, letting him bury his face in her hair.  “It’s ok, Siri.”  Her throat clogged and she tried to stuff down the urge to cry.  “I-we still need you, you know.”

Sirius shuddered against her and then he was twirling her around, laughing despite the tears streaming down his cheeks.  “Dance with me, flower!”  He called with a slightly too loud laugh.

Heather flushed, mortification overcoming her as Sirius positioned their arms, his resting on her waist and hers mirroring him, with their hands linked on the other side.  “I-I can’t.”  She admitted, looking down, knowing her cheeks were aflame.  “I don’t know how.”

“That’s ok, ole’ Paddy can teach you.”  Sirius assured her, unlinking their hands long enough to chuck under her chin until she looked up at him.   He grinned, earnest and sincere.  “Stand on my feet- I’ll be fine, flower, you weigh less than _Snuffles_ , furry garbage repository that he is.”

Heather laughed then, stepping up onto Sirius’ black leather motorcycle boots just before she was swept away by her self-proclaimed uncle.  She was so caught up in his excited chatter, dancing to music only he could hear, that she didn’t even realize that he took them all the way down the hall to the lesser ballroom.

When Sirius finally stopped she realized that they had an audience.  Aunt Cassie was dancing with Harry and sitting by himself was Grandfather, looking intensely satisfied and unbelievably sad at the same time.

But before she could dwell on that thought the old fashioned record player crackled and a new song- when had the music started?- started to play and Sirius swept her away again.

―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――
> 
> Feel free to leave me a line if you enjoyed this~!
> 
> ―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――
> 
> (Also, in case anyone is interested, my buddy EmptySurface has a Naruto SI/OC and I recommend checking it out!
> 
> Kyo's story is quite the tale! It's called 'Hear the Silence'!)
> 
> ―――ᴖᴗ―□―∞―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞◊―●―○ᴖᴗ―□―∞―≡―◊―●―○―ᴖᴗ―◊―――

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment on your way out if you enjoyed it~!


End file.
